


Queen of Thieves

by sweetsunray



Series: Woodes Rogers' Legacy [1]
Category: Black Sails
Genre: Adventure, Drama & Romance, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Historical References, Literary References & Allusions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-05
Updated: 2016-10-17
Packaged: 2018-07-21 18:23:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 34
Words: 160,266
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7398517
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sweetsunray/pseuds/sweetsunray
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>expanded, fleshed out S3 plot: The Queen of Thieves, Eleanor Guthrie finds herself convicted of piracy on the high seas by the Martial Court in London. Her father is dead, murdered by her former lover Charles Vane. Driven by hatred, she grabs her chance to take him down. Her voyage to Nassau though is the source of a sea-change within, until love becomes her motivation. POVs: Eleanor (main), Rogers (main with pre-Nassau flashbacks, but gradually introduced), Max (supporting), Vane (supporting once). </p><p>Fan warning: I follow canon evidence and hints of S3 that shed another light on Vane-Eleanor and Maxanor. This is no fix-it, but expands why Eleanor loves and chooses Woodes Rogers. The show-writers took a bleak, but realistic emotional approach of Eleanor and showed well enough how Vane's and Max's own interests conflict with her ideals. Thus, Eleanor abhors Vane and mistrusts Max in this fanfic.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Convicted Mourner

**Author's Note:**

  * In response to a prompt by [karate0kat](https://archiveofourown.org/users/karate0kat/pseuds/karate0kat) in the [pirate_prompts_2016](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/pirate_prompts_2016) collection. 
  * In response to a prompt by [karate0kat](https://archiveofourown.org/users/karate0kat/pseuds/karate0kat) in the [pirate_prompts_2016](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/pirate_prompts_2016) collection. 



> While this fanfic is not meant to defend Eleanor's choices, it was written to expand understanding of her character and use similar thematic themes and parallels as the show writers do and hint in the stories of Flint, Silver and Vane. Eleanor hardly interested me in S1, grew on me in S2, but I find that she became a fully rounded, realistically written character in S3, and I love how the show runners and writers used imagery and parallels across all three seasons to tell her story. The opinion of Vane, Max and Mrs. Mapleton about her is one of projection for me, caused by their need to ignore she has a will, ideals and feelings of her own, especially because these conflict with their own desires of her. So, I wrote this in honor of the series' writers and inspirational legends, literature and other authors to weave it in, and share with people how I have come to understand Eleanor, or at least how the show's authors intended her to be.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Still in the mourning dress for her father's funeral, Eleanor has been convicted as a pirate and sentenced to be hanged. She feels as good as dead anyway. The sole thing that makes her feel alive is the Pontic hatred for Charles Vane, former lover and murderer of her father. When she thinks death has come for her in the form of a handsome man in his late thirties, it turns out she gets a chance to exact the revenge she vowed to have to God by helping the newly appointed governor of Nassau, Woodes Rogers.

She had no idea how long she had been down here, since they shut the door behind her after her conviction and buried her in this cold, damp place with its thick walls. _Was it yesterday? Or was it last year?_ It had a small window to allow for daylight, but without the ability to see the sky, she saw neither sun, nor moon. She could have kept track of time with paper and pen, if she had wanted to. _To what point?_ She was but a ghost in a body, breathing on borrowed time. _What use are plume and paper to phantoms?_

“To write your lawyer,” the gaoler had said, “or your family; to prepare your defense.” But her conviction was assured and her family in Boston never had shown to care for her.

“Or write your story.” Her story, the real one, the heartfelt one, the mental one, only belonged to herself. Her story had come to an end. She intended to take it with her into her actual grave.

 _Will they open the door to lead me to my noose in moments, tomorrow, or next year_? She feared it not though. She had been dead, since the day they showed her the broken corpse of her father.  Eleanor still wore the black mourning dress. This time it would serve her own funeral. Her jailer was the sole sign of life around, when his steps echoed through the vaulted corridor, his keys chimed, a rusted door screeched, or the slot clanged with a bang  when he passed food through it. But apart from that he seemed to have forgotten about her too. After her conviction, he had not spoken a word to her anymore.

Her cell was not without some comforts. She had a bed, a chair, a desk, and a candle. Nor was she left to starve or thirst. She would have thought hunger would make even old, molded bread edible. But everything tasted like ashes. She had been down here for so long, her nose had even become insensitive to the bucket in the far corner. Eleanor lay curled with stiff muscles on the mattress, her hands wrenched like claws around her pillow. In her mind, they were wrapped around another man’s neck.

Her Pontic hatred for him was the sole thing left that still made her feel somewhat alive. All the love she ever believed to have felt had vanished, blown by the wind. Gone. Where her heart used to be remained only a nest of vipers. She still heard his raspy voice, or smelled his sweat and musk after he shot his seed into her, the dry shoving that hurt if she was not quick enough to lubricate herself, the ache in her loins after he was done with her, his weight on her when he pinned her down. She remembered the grainy sand of his tent scratching her skin and being everywhere in her clothes, impossible to be gotten rid of. She could feel the stabbing pain when he took her maidenhood in his fiery, rough way as if it happened yesterday. Passion she had called it then. But no more. Her left jaw throbbed in memory of the bruising punch he once gave her. These memories filled her with ice that floated on a violent ocean, red like blood.

Eleanor felt soiled from hair to toe, outside and inside for allowing that cowardly monster to talk to her, touch her, fuck her. The noose would end the pain and the feeling of wanting to cut out the associated filth within.

 _What sort of hellish monster is a man, when he tortures and murders an innocent, who never harmed or opposed him, only because he happened to be her father?_ _Coward_ , she thought. _You fucking coward!_ _All that to save his your own skin with your crew. You used me as your punch bag or fuck-prize to brag about_. He had Max gang raped to keep his captaincy. He had taken innocent Abigail hostage for the same reasons. And he murdered her father and then burned all of Charles Town, all in order not to lose face and save his hide. _All Charles Vane ever cared about was himself and the freedom to rape, steal and kill others_. But she was to hang, and he lived. _He should hang along with me. By God, hear my plea – grant me justice, and let him hang and rid the world of his destructiveness, and I swear upon marbled heaven I will accept my fate without looking back, without regretting that I ever loved a monster_.

She and her father had given Charles a tactical preference for years. He was smart and cunning, all that was necessary to make up for his lack of education and society in youth. Still, no goodness could be imprinted on him, not even to his fellow men toiling in bondage. Only capable to do ill, Charles was like a savage Caliban who only knew his own meaning and murdered her father to have the island for himself and make others his slaves. The commonwealth this wretched Caliban fought for, this Golden Age of Piracy, was one where only plantations of nettle, dock and mallow existed. Nobody would toil or grow anything. He wanted to be a souvereign executing anyone he pleased and could. There would be no books, no contracts, no service, no work - everyone idle, men and women alike. The Pirate Republic was but a world of treason, felony, sword, pike, knife and gun; and whores and knaves its subjects. Charles was his devilish father’s son after all.

Eleanor rose from her bed and started to pace her cell, wrists clenched. _He robbed me of my humanity and empathy, to know what should have been plain right and wrong._ Even though it had shocked her to see a girl as young and innocent as Abigail Ashe in chains, eating filth in a leaky dungeon, Eleanor had only rescued her after Mrs. Barlow made her see how Abigail was the key to a different future for Nassau. _Was that what they meant when they told me to prepare my defense, to write my story?_ _To make me look like a repentant pirate who went out to save a damsel in distress out of the goodness of my own heart?_ It would have been a foul lie.

She would have laughed at the irony of it all, if she could. Instead a tear leaked down her cheek when  the broken face of her father and the loss of luster in his dead eyes came unbidden to her mind. A full six feet under his coral bones lay now, which would be all that was left of him. She would break if she allowed herself to remember the strange sea change in her father when he hugged and held her the last time she saw him. And yet, she could not resist the richness of that memory.

Eleanor became only dimly aware of boots echoing through the corridor. Initially, they were but distant ghosts wholly unconnected to her. Until they grew louder and closer. She rubbed her eyes fiercely and sat down on the bed. Her demons were hers and hers alone; she could never allow anyone to see them.

The bolt was shoved aside from her door  and the hinges screamed loudly as it swung open. _Today is the day, finally_. Like the pride pirate queen of Nassau they believed her to be, she held her back straight and her head high. She had haggled with, bartered with and ordered around the most notorious murderers known to the world for pretty much all of her young life. She could look this bringer of death square in the eye.

The stranger stepped into her prison cell wearing a dark blue justaucorps of rich wool, with deep cuffs and finished golden threaded buttonholes, matching waistcoat and muslin stock tie. His washed brown hair was bound to the back in the nape of his neck and his face clean shaven. She could smell the oiled leather of his black riding boots as well as a waft of soap and perfume off him. Death was a handsome man in his late thirties, with sparkling blue eyes that glimmered like the sun on the azure waters of the Caribbean. His gaze shifted like sand from amusement to soft empathy. This was not how she imagined death to look like.

“Judge – For years you lorded over the operations of hundreds if not thousands hardened pirates.” His English was immaculate. “How exactly were you able to manage this?” Apprehension snagged at her throat. _He is here to mock me_ , she thought and looked away.  “Accused – One day at a time, I suppose.” He paused and silence hung for a moment. “I enjoyed that.”

Death was a purring cat that toyed with its mice, or a fancy rich man who paid for the privilege to meet with the queen of thieves in her prison cell before she was hanged. That was all she was reduced to – the enjoyment of others. Was there ever truly a moment after her mother’s death where she had enjoyed herself? She could not remember.

The stranger continued in his warm, velvety voice. “There’s  a funny thing about notoriety. And I have little experience with this.” He moved from the door to the chair, laying his matching tricorne on the desk. “The more people know of you, the more of you those people feel belongs to them.” He sat down. “Now, right now, there is a barrister who feels entitled to say, ‘I am the one who convicted Eleanor Guthrie’; a judge who wants to say, ‘I was the one who hanged her’; a throng of people outside, ‘I was the one who cheered as she swung.’ They all feel entitled to a part of your story. And it’s a hell of a story. So, you can imagine how difficult it was for me to arrange it, so that I could, say, ‘I am the one who set her free’.”

“Who the fuck are you?” she bit back.

He was smiling at her. “My name is Woodes Rogers and I am the next Governor of New Providence island. Well, assuming I can subdue her. That is where you come in. I am to set sail to the West Indies in two days time. I am prepared, but the one element I lack is knowledge.”

Her heart beat in her throat and her mind raced. _Can this be happening? Can I somehow reach out to Nassau through this man and rid myself of my worst demon, finally?_

“… someone who understands Nassau that can help me know what I’m going to find there. If you agree to be that person for me, your sentence will be commuted, and the charges against you released.”

Suspicious, she glanced at him. “And what would you ask of me?” Nothing had ever come cheap to her.

He leaned forward and with feeling said, “I understand it is an uncomfortable position for you, feeling like you’re betraying people you’ve known so closely…”

Eleanor shook her head. She wanted none of his false empathy. Irritated, she said, much louder, “Specifically, what would I have to do?”

Much colder and more severe, he said, “To begin with, a list. The names of those on the island who could be made allies. Those who would be harder to sway.”

Eleanor rose, walked to the desk, grabbed a piece of paper and scribbled one name on it. She dropped the piece of paper on the desk before him. “To civilize Nassau that is the sole name you need to concern yourself with.” Woodes stared at her, before he picked up the letter and eyed it skeptically, as if he thought less of her for betraying any pirate so easily. _Oh, if only he knew._ But it was enough that she did, for she was Nassau. “As long as he is alive,” she insisted, “you cannot succeed.”

Two days later, her door swung open, and she was marshaled out of her cell to the yard and into the gatehouse. The clerk there had her sign a document of her release and gave her a parcel wrapped in brown paper.

“This isn’t mine.” Eleanor had sold every necklace, ring and other items on her person when she was first sent to Newgate to pay for her accommodations. 

The clerk looked up over his glasses. “A gift from Mr. Rogers.”

“So, I’m a free woman then?” Eleanor asked flabbergasted.

The clerk laughed. “A free woman? No, I don’t think so, Miss Guthrie. Mr. Rogers’ carriage awaits you. You are his responsibility now, not ours.”

 _What sort of man is this Woodes Rogers that he can snatch me away from Wapping, with just the strike of a pen?_ “Who _is_ Woodes Rogers?” she finally asked.

“You don’t know Woodes Rogers?”

Eleanor shook her head. “Should I?”

The clerk grinned. “I suppose you moved in the wrong circles to have ever heard of him.” He laughed at his own wit. Eleanor did not. He lifted his glasses from his nose and cleaned them with a handkerchief. “He’s a hero - sailed around the world, went farther south than any other man before him, fought the Spanish and French in the Pacific, rescued a poor sod who was marooned for four years, attacked a Spanish city in South America and lifted the jewels from the ladies, returned with numerous captured treasure galleons and wrote a book about it.” The clerk pushed his glasses back across his nose.

 _Galleons_ , Eleanor thought, _like the Urca_. She had told Flint once that it had never been done before. But somehow this man had captured two of them. “A privateer?”

“Indeed.”

Buccaneers, privateers or pirates - the first two only pirated enemy ships of England during the war, and carried royal letters of marque with them.  Of course Spain and France regarded them as pirates just as well, war or no war, while England saw them as heroes. So, basically the crown was sending a pirate to conquer the pirate republic – a rich, cultured pirate of the highest class.

Eleanor tore the paper to reveal  a saffron calico shawl. Little roses were embroidered on the shiny material. She snagged a pin from her dress, stuck it between her teeth, wound her greasy hair behind her head and tried to fix it as deftly as she could. She picked a few more pins from her collar and got every stray hair neatly tied. She draped the shawl around her waist, hiding much of her old, black dress underneath, except for the skirt and sleeves. Then she wrapped it around her shoulders and pulled it over her head, and for a moment let her thumb and finger slide across the smooth fabric. “Goodbye,” she said to the clerk.

“Hmmm,” was all he answered, without looking up.

And so, Eleanor stepped outside the gatehouse, never to look back. She had to blink against the sunlight and for the first time she became aware of the noise, of carriages passing, street vendors hollering and the smell of broth coming from a stall. But there was no time to take in the wonder of her first moment outside of prison, unshackled. Armed redcoats lined up a path for her to the black carriage waiting. A man in livery opened the door. Eleanor hoisted up her skirts, lowered her head and stepped into a small world of thick, wine red, velvet cushions.

“Sit, please.” Mr. Rogers gestured to the seat opposite of him.

Taken by surprise, Eleanor opened her mouth, but then lowered her eyes and did as told. Finally, she gathered her courage to ask, “Where am I going?”

“The _Delicia,_ and after that onwards to Nassau.” Rogers banged his palm on the outside of the door to signal the driver they were ready to go. He spoke no more. Outside, a whip snapped and the driver hollered at the two horses. She fell slightly forward as the vehicle jerked into movement and then they were riding.

With the curtains closed, the only point of interest to look at was the man who had freed her, this supposed hero, and he was staring right back at her, his face unreadable. He made her nervous. She thought her heart beat so loud, he must be hearing it. And her hands felt clammy. But Eleanor could not discern why this man in particular made her feel that way. He did not glare at her. In fact, he did not behave or appear threatening to her at all. Just indifferent, like one of those biologists studying a newfound species. Maybe that is what unnerves me, she decided. While she could not resist glancing at her hands, her feet or to the side, she had some pride left and refused to cower in front of him. 

From under her eyelashes, she studied Woodes Rogers. He had the self-assurance about him of a man who was used to getting his way. His apparent confidence lacked the usual arrogance and cockiness that went with it though. He looked the gallant, handsome hero alright, in his wine-red justaucorps, beige waistcoat and britches and black tricorne, his symmetrical features and intelligent, amused,  blue eyes. The sole blemish on his face was a jagged reddish scar that ran from his left cheek, beneath his eye, to his lower jaw. Most likely, he had acquired it at some duel. Rich men dueled for all sorts of imaginary honor dealings.

His silence, his lack of invitation for her to speak, while watching her made her self-conscious of her own appearance. She tried to tuck away an imagined stray hair. She cringed at the idea of how greasy it was. And she imagined she stank of sour sweat and waste. At Newgate all she was ever entitled to for hygiene had been a bucket of water once a week and one tiny leftover bar of soap.

Her hands were pale after being out of the sun for so long. She could only imagine what her face must have looked like – haggard, ghostly. Meanwhile, her mourning dress that had fitted her so well all those months ago, hung loose about her body now, and not just because she had sold her belt for that piss poor bar of soap. She felt itchy. Prison was full of bugs. And yet she dared not scratch and betray it in front of this clean man.

Eleanor wondered what his character was like. Were his features just a mask that hid ruthlessness or even cruelty? Did he feel superior over the less fortunate? How far was he willing to go? Would he storm the beach and burn Nassau before rebuilding it? How much did he desire power for himself? Was he like the previous governors? Or was he a man who overestimated himself and what he could accomplish in this venture? And what did he want with her?

She knew how to work people, to sell, to find leads. But she had no military or naval expertise. She had only sailed twice in her life. Once as a toddler from Boston to New Providence and the second time as a captive to London. Eleanor had no memory of the first, and wished to forget the later. Her heart yearned for Nassau though - the old Nassau that was no more, for a very long time. She dreaded how much it had changed for the worse, and wondered how much more it would change because of this man opposite of her?  

 _Nassau!_ Initially settlers were lured to Nassau before the turn of the century with promises of easy living and wealth, since it was along the trade route for any and every ship leaving for Europe from Carolina to Venezuela. It was just a very small town when her father settled there, but in the process of being rebuilt after the Spanish had burned it down more than a decade before she was born, when it was still called Charles Town. There was always movement, hustle and bustle and no shortage of work, either on ships or building. Every time her mother rode with her to town from their inland cottage, some new establishment had sprouted out of nowhere, with each and every building of a different color – orange, azure, saffron, red, mint. It smelled of cacao,  cardamom  and pepper.

And the noise! There was always noise, night and day - sailors shouting in different languages at the dock and beach or the singing of drunk men floated out of the taverns. Bells chimed and whistles blew. She was already in love with Nassau in that first memory of it. That was before the Spanish and French burned it in the Rosario Raid, before England abandoned its daughter colony that English privateers used as a base to attack enemy vessels, long before it became the haunt of pirates. But even of that early pirate period, she remembered kicking the white sand as she floundered passed the pirate tents, laden with exotic tapestries and cushions, silverware and other prizes as a little girl – her father’s beach.

The first pirate had been Henry Avery, seeking shelter under the false name Bridgeman and posing as an interloper. He offered his ship the _Fancy_  to the governing council, of which her father was a member, to help protect Nassau from the French. The council accepted. Not that they could have turned Avery down. Avery’s crew numbered more men than the men in Nassau and there was no Royal Navy to protect anybody. Long Ben and his men frequented her father’s tavern and Avery would pick her up and put her on his knee. She was no more than six years old at the time. Avery fled after a few months, but it had made the governors and people of Nassau regard the pirates and privateers as men they needed for protection and wealth. The rumor that Avery had stashed part of the Mogul’s stolen treasure on one of the uninhabited, neighboring islands, lured pirates all by themselves to Nassau. Once in a while, pirate crews tried to investigate a rumored lead, but either they were never heard of again, and the rest returned empty-handed.

They had ridden for half an hour in this silent manner before the carriage slowed to a halt. Woodes Rogers gestured for her to step out. She lifted the shawl and covered her hair. Stepping out, she found herself on the docks at the Thames. There was the familiar whistle. Gulls screeched overhead. And men hollered orders while they loaded cargo on the ships. Redcoats marched by. When the last stomped past her, Eleanor had her first view of Woodes Rogers’ fleet - eight gunned ships, three of those of the Royal Navy. 

Taking the size of the planned operation in, Eleanor could not doubt that England and Woodes Rogers meant serious business in retaking Nassau. Eleanor’s stomach churned in apprehension. _This whole fleet can burn all of Nassau down and bombard it back to being no more than a beach._ She glanced at Rogers, standing beside her. He gestured for her to walk ahead.

She felt quite wobbly when she walked the plank onto the _Delicia_. While she loved the sea, she preferred to see it from ashore. Eleanor had no sea legs, and certainly not after months of stale bread and watery broth. The crew and officers welcomed Rogers with the utmost respect, and Eleanor tried to hide her face behind her saffron shawl and Rogers’ back.

“Lord Governor Rogers,” saluted an officer of the Royal Navy.

“Commodore Chamberlain.”

The commodore bowed his head in her direction. “Milady, welcome aboard.” Then to Rogers he said. “I am sorry, Lord Governor, we were not warned that your wife –“

Rogers coughed in surprise and scraped his throat. “My mistake, Commodore. May I introduce you to my guest, who has only become a very recent addition to the crew, Miss Eleanor Guthrie.”

The commodore’s features changed abruptly from obliging and cordial to dark, suspicious and disapproving. He pressed his lips together. “I see. In that case, we have sufficient accommodation. I will let the men clear out a quarter in the back of the upper hull, with a door that can be bolted from the outside.”

“Thank you,” said Rogers. “See to it immediately.”

Eleanor glowered at Chamberlain who gestured at one of the lieutenants and passed on the order. _Just fucking splendid!_ She had been wretched for a fortnight on the voyage to London while stuck and chained in a dark hull of the HMS _Scarborough_. It would be the same all over again. She turned her back on both the commodore and Rogers, and surveyed the hustle and bustle on the quay.

Rogers stationed himself beside her. “I realize this is an unpleasant arrangement for you, Miss Guthrie.”

So far, he had said very little to her. But when he did, she felt her nerves wriggle into a knot and her heart jump into her throat. It was not just the soft, eloquent warmth of it. It felt just so damn personable, that it made her feel noticed in a manner that she wanted to crawl away and hide. And that was just a stupid way to feel about it.

“I will see to it personally that all your needs are met below deck. If you cooperate, I may take your present circumstances under review.”

She wanted to snarl and sneer, but that would make her imprisonment in a hull for the coming voyage a certainty. If she was to live, if she was to return to Nassau, she needed to placate this man. So, Eleanor closed her eyes and allowed the feel of the breeze touch her face and the summer sun’s pleasant warmth shine on her face. With a strained voice, she said, “I understand, Mr. Rogers. I am your prisoner.”

To this, he gave no answer. So, she waited, beside him, her hands folded before her, staring at the land, while he talked with one officer or another. Before long the lieutenant returned to inform the lord governor that Miss Guthrie’s quarters were ready and if she would be so kind to follow midshipman Mr. Eames. Rogers touched the tip of his hat. “Good day, Miss Guthrie.”

“Good day, Mr. Rogers,” she whispered and hurried after the midshipman, who looked more a youth than man. He could not have been no older than sixteen. But she had seen even younger boys with a similar white patch on the collar of their naval uniform. Mr. Eames guided her below deck to what would be her cell in the bow of the ship. “Your room, ma’m,” he said and opened the door for her, while he stared shy at his feet when she passed him.

Eleanor stepped inside the dark, gloomy room and heard the door close behind her and the bolt locked from the outside. She dropped her arms and turned around slowly. At least it was roomier than the one Captain Hume had kept her in the HMS _Scarborough_ , but not less depressing. There was a cot and some old hazy mirror hanging from a beam. Eleanor stepped towards the mirror and tried to wipe it clean with the cuff of her sleeve, without success. It had an open window. Her cell was a few feet above the waterline. If they were to travel through rough waters, the floor her bedding of her cot would be soaked with salt water. But it also meant fresh air, once in open sea. Unfortunately, laying at anchor in the harbor, so close to the waterline, it smelled like a sewer.

She sighed a breath of despair. _Why did he not just let me stay in Newgate?_ At that moment, she guessed she still preferred to die, rather than live. Eleanor had already done all she could to have her last living wish completed – give Rogers the name of the one pirate that should die. Slowly, she unwound the shawl and dragged herself to the cot, laid down, closed her eyes and buried her face in the pillow that smelled of salt and sea.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Reference notes for those interested in the references I incorporated to write the chapter:
> 
> This and many other chapters incorporate symbolism in the manner that George RR Martin does in aSoIaF. The devil is in the details. Hence, the death symbolism of her conviction is not solely echoed in her feeling as if already dead, but the darkness and death of her soul is reflected by the darkness of the dungeon (an underwordly place). The winter season, coldness, dampness, absence of color and senses all evokes death. 
> 
> I used literary references that belong to literature known at the time or that had experienced a revival:  
> * the shawl hints at Greek mythology elements that will become clearer in a later chapter. But where the first chapter starts with death, it moves towards the 'dawn' of a new life.  
> * Shakespeare's Othello is referenced in relation to revenge  
> * Shakespeare's Tempest (Ariel's song) is referenced in relation to mourning the dead father. Charles Vane is compared to Caliban who in this story succeeded in his murder plot of Prospero. The Pirate Republic is compared to the world Gonzalo wishes to be king of.


	2. The Hero

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eleanor dreams of the Rosario Raid and finds out more about Woodes Rogers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Eleanor's dream of the Rosario Raid contains graphic violence, abuse and rape. It is most of all a dream - only part memory, part projection, part insertion of facts afterwards, part conjunction of several elements of Eleanor's life. You are free to believe what you want to have happened, and what not. What can be overall said is that it was a very violent event that changed Eleanor's world, security at the very impressionable young age of 13.

It was a very old dream, one she did not have for many, many years. A bell tolled alarmingly. “Frigates!” and “The Spanish!” people clamored in panic. Her father had his back to her as he packed whatever they could take with them. “Take the child to the woods, Elizabeth. Hide there with the others. I will join you as soon as I can.” Her mother took her hand, but otherwise did not move. “Go!” said her father. “Now! Before the Spanish get here.”

Eleanor pulled her mother’s hand. “Mother! You heard father.”

Finally they ran, out the door. The town’s main street had overturned into a violent, flood of people stampeding in every direction. The shrieks of panic were so loud, she could hardly hear the bells anymore. Someone rushed into her and the next moment her mother’s hand was gone.

“Mother!” she cried and turned around, but she could not see her. She ran one way, then the other way, while guns exploded in the bay and debris flew around her.

Spanish soldiers with swords and muskets drawn filled the street. She saw a child’s brain explode at the impact of a shot and the body dropped to the ground before her feet. Somehow she had lost her shoes. Then a sword cleaved into the baker’s wife belly. A Spanish soldier had his britches down and his naked, hairy butt moved frantically. She stared at the pumping arse with fascination. _It's called fucking! The pirates talk of it at father's tavern._ It was the first time she saw such a thing, and despite her fear and the violence exploding around her, she felt strangely excited by it. Eleanor gaped at the girl underneath him. That was the butcher’s daughter, who was younger than she even, only eleven. The girl’s body and head rolled up and down with the soldier’s movement. _Like a doll._   Her open eyes and the slashed throat was all the information that Eleanor needed to know she was dead. _Why is that Spaniard fucking a dead girl_ _?_

Somebody grabbed her from behind. She kicked him hard against the shins, wrestled herself free and ran and ran, until she recognized the rose-flowered petticoat. Eleanor dropped to her knees. “Mother,” she whispered. Her mother’s body lay broken, her soiled hand over her belly, her head to the side. It was almost as if she was sleeping, except for that weird angle of her neck.

A strong hand clawed around her arm. His eyes were full of fire. His face was splattered with blood. He spoke some demonic language to her as he shook her violently, then shoved her to the ground and pinned her down with his weight. _No_ , her head screamed. _No! No! Not like the butcher’s daughter_. While she felt her legs being shoved apart and the Spaniard concentrated for a moment on his buckle to unlace, Eleanor frantically searched with her hand. It settled around a rock of debris. She swung as hard as she could and the stone impacted his temple. _That rock used to be part of the church._

“Pinche puta!” the Spaniard growled and punched her in the jaw.

She lay dazed from the blow as the Spaniard stared at the blood sticking to his fingers after he touched his temple. His face contorted to that of a monster and in his hellish eyes, glowing with Nassau burning around them. She could see he would crush her skull next - _just like the butcher's daughter_. As he raised himself, his face suddenly contorted and gleaming steel jumped out of his throat, reminding her of a story her mother used to tell her.

_“Oh grandmamma, what great big teeth you have!”_

_“All the better to EAT YOU WITH!,” said the wolf._

Eleanor screamed.

The shadow of a man stood over them, as the Spaniard’s weight dropped onto her and held her down. Finally, she came out of her paralysis and wriggled to roll the dead body off of her. The shadow reached for her hand and pulled her up. He had long loose hair, all the way to his waist. _A pirate, a warrior._

“Run, girl,” he said gruffly. “Run to the woods.” And then he was gone.

She ran, sobbing, tripping over dead bodies everywhere to the forest. _The woods_ , her mind repeated to her over and over. _The woods… woods… woods_. _Woods will shelter me._ She hid under a brush, her arms around her legs, her head buried between her knees, rocking to and fro, trying to banish the sound of Nassau’s slaughter from the presence and her memory.

When Eleanor woke, she felt the ship’s movement. The air smelled fresh. She groaned as she picked herself up groggily. She must have slept through most of the morning and afternoon. As she sat on the side of the bed, Eleanor closed her eyes against a pounding headache. _Why did I dream that nightmare again, now?_ It had been years since she last dreamt of the Rosario Raid and how she had hid in the woods of the island with the other survivors. For days alone, she had feared she was actually orphaned, until Mr. Scott found her.

The Raid had razed Nassau to the ground. Over a hundred people were killed. Fort Nassau had been destroyed and the guns taken. Eighty people were taken prisoner and taken to Cuba, including the governor. Eleanor was sure her father must have been taken as well when Mr. Scott and her could not find his body amongst the dead, unlike her mother. Eventually, it turned out that her father had sheltered in their inland house. With the other survivors, her father organized a bunch of skiffs to sail the willing to Harbour Island for refuge.

And then they were only two dozen, living in tents and huts on the beach, hiding in the woods and inland at any sighting of Spain and France. The English sent a newly appointed governor a year later. Edward Birch had looked upon the deserted island with dismay and inquired what had happened to Nassau. England cared so little about New Providence, they did not even know about the Rosario Raid. The new governor did not find the rubble and rabble worth his trouble and sailed off again a few days later. That was the last time any of them had seen the English at Nassau. Governor Thompson, who came after Birch, lived on the island Eleutheria instead. Not that it kept Edward Teach from murdering him.    

There was a knock on the door. “Miss Guthrie? I am here with your dinner,” said the midshipman at the other side.

“Thank you, Mr. Eames. You can come in.”

The bolt was taken off and the door unlocked.  In walked, Mr. Eames, in his bluecoat uniform and wearing a bag wig. He carried a tray with china plate, a bowl and sealed off pot. Mr. Eames set the plate on a small table and began to cut the pork for her. _Meat_ , Eleanor thought and the smell of it brought water to her mouth. Her belly rumbled. She had not eaten meat in ages. She had not even been hungry for ages. Involuntarily, Eleanor rose and edged towards the table.

“It’s the same as is served to the Captain General , miss,” said Mr. Eames with some pride.

“Who?”

“The lord governor. He ordered the cook to give you the best piece.” Mr. Eames was done cutting and laid a spoon beside the plate, stepped outside for a moment and then returned with a small pitcher and a tin cup. “Wine,” he smiled at her. The knife he had used to cut the pork was tucked away. Eleanor moved the chair and sat down, while Mr. Eames smiled at her encouragingly. “It’s all fresh,” he indicated the beetroot.

Eleanor picked up the spoon and dipped it in the bowl of soup. The velvety cream and leek tasted like ambrosia. Eleanor closed her eyes and licked her lips in almost heavenly delight. Hunger was a meal’s best sauce, she had heard say once. Now, she knew the truth of it.

“May I?” asked Mr. Eames as he gestured to her bed. When she nodded, he sat down. “The Captain General told me I should make sure that you take your time, and yet eat it all. To help you regain your strength for the voyage. He is most attentive that everybody eats well.”

After a few more spoons of the soup, Eleanor had to deliberately pace herself. Her hunger demanded for more, to just take the bowl and pour it down into her throat. But her shrunken stomach equally screamed for time to deal with the novelty. “You speak as though he is exceptional in that?”

“Oh, yes. He was one of the first navigators who insisted to carry a load of lime on his ships. Against scurvy, you know. But despite that, still seven sailors died of it when he reached the Pacific after the Drake Passage. That’s why he set out for Juan Fernandez. To replenish the stock with fresh produce and prevent further death.”

None of these place names meant anything to her. “You seem to know a lot of his voyages.”

“Oh, yes. I have his book!”

Eleanor turned around to look at young Mr. Eames. “You have his book?”

“Of course,” the young man beamed. “He writes about possible navigation and trade routes of the South Seas. How to deal with mutineers, preserve the health of the crew. It’s all important. And I hope to learn as much as I can from him, so that I can be as good a navigator one day. Nowadays his book is carried by most navigators both within the Admiralty and private companies, and more captains have adopted his methods to stock up on lime, since he managed to return with so many of his original crew.”

“And yet seven died, you say.”

“Yes, and more in battle,” Mr. Eames admitted sour. With new vigor though he argued, “But more would have died without him. And none would have if England had only made sure to have a colony in the South Seas to replenish fresh produce.”  

“But the Spanish own all of South America,” reasoned Eleanor. “Except for Brazil. But that is owned by their ally Portugal. Unless England goes to war again with Spain, the English will never have a colony there.”

Mr. Eames sighed. “Unfortunately, yes.”

Eleanor set the empty bowl aside and pulled the china plate towards her. “And so England’s eye has turned towards the Bahamas,” Eleanor murmured more to herself than to Mr. Eames.

It had mystified her what England’s interest in Nassau may be, other than ridding themselves of the pirates who attacked Spanish, French and English alike. That the English wanted to protect the trade between their colonies on the American shores she understood. But that they wanted to colonize it once again after abandoning it had perplexed her. Yes, when she helped Captain Flint by freeing Abigail Ashe, she had hoped to strike a bargain with the English and make them see how worthwhile Nassau could be to them as an intermediate trading port. But England had realized it all by itself. More, Rogers seemed some sort of visionary when it came to trade, the type of trade no Nassau pirate or smuggler would think of – global trade. He wanted to procure the most southern colony for ships that wanted to continue into the South Seas. And just getting a glimpse of such an economical mind marveled her.

Eleanor spooned a piece of pork, flavored with dried sprigs of myrtle berries, that melted in her mouth. The taste of it was so strong that it nearly made her dizzy. Mr. Eames got up and filled the tin cup with a bit of wine. By the second bite, she believed she would not need the wine to get drunk, as she already felt slightly inebriated from meat and blood. "So, Mr. Rogers managed to save the rest of his crew at this island Juan Fernandez.”

“Oh, yes,” said Mr. Eames who sat himself down on her bed again. “And that with the help of Mr. Selkirk.”

“Mr. Selkirk?”

“The night before the _Duke_ anchored ashore off the island, they noticed the light of a fire burning, though it was supposed to be uninhabited. The Captain General feared it might be a patrol of Spaniards and sent a team to scout the island. It were no Spanish, but Mr. Selkirk, who had sailed with Mr. Rogers’ partner and pilot before, Captain Dampier, on a previous privateering mission. The conditions of Dampier’s ships were abominable. When they stopped there to replenish stocks and fresh water, Selkirk had declared that he preferred to stay on the island than sail with those leaky vessels ever again. The captain took him to his word and marooned him there with his things.”

Eleanor realized this was the tale of the poor sod that Rogers had rescued. And as she listened to Mr. Eames telling her the story, she thought the boy might one day make a good writer himself if his navigation dreams never worked out. He gave her a colorful description of a burly Scotsman all dressed in goatskins and a goatskin hat. Then Mr. Eames told her how the agile, happy-spirited Mr. Selkirk hunted wild goats for four years and for Rogers’ sick sailors.

“It sounds more like Mr. Selkirk saved the crew, rather than Mr. Rogers saving him,” she said.

Mr. Eames chuckled. “In a way it was. In fact, when Mr. Selkirk learned that Dampier was part of the Captain General’s venture, he first did not even want to leave the island. Only on Mr. Rogers’ assurance that Dampier was his pilot, not a captain of either the _Duke_ and the _Duchess_ , did Mr. Selkirk agree to come.” Eleanor smiled, intoxicated from the wine and the meat. Mr. Eames noticed she had finished her plate. He jumped up to lift the lid of the little china bowl, and revealed freshly picked strawberries in there. “We have a very good summer.” Eleanor accepted his assertion about English weather without discussion. To her it seemed miserable weather, but then she was used to having sun almost all year round. “Lord Governor said it was very important that you eat these. For your health.”

Eleanor smiled at him, and the young man started to blush. She picked one of the heart-shaped strawberries and popped it in her mouth - an explosion of sweetness. A fresh strawberry tasted of the sun and a refreshing, sweet summer rainshower. “Hmmmmm.” Mr. Eames’ blush became a deep red, and he licked his lips underneath his downy effort of a blonde moustache as he watched her. She held out the pot to him. “Take one. You will not have any of those either in a long while I believe.”

The young man shook his head fervently. “No. Captain General had me buy them this morning especially for you from the woman who sold them on the market behind the docks.” Mr. Eames looked at his feet, clearly embarrassed. “He explained me how long you have been at Newgate and that your circumstances there would have been deplorable.”

Eleanor popped another strawberry in her mouth. “I will not get scurvy because you ate one of these.” Finally, Mr. Eames smiled back and picked the smallest strawberry out of the bunch. “You mentioned the governor managed to subdue a mutiny.”

“His crew wished to attack a Swedish ship. But Sweden was neutral during the War of the Spanish Succession. Hearing none of it, he flogged the leader of the mutiny, had him clapped in irons and sent back to England on the first ship they encountered.”

“And the rest of the mutineers?”

“He put them on a smaller ration for a while.”

“I am much entertained by all these stories,” said Eleanor. “But the one question I keep wondering is – Who is Woodes Rogers, as a person?”

Mr. Eames looked unsure at her question. “I do not know how much I am allowed to tell you, miss.”

She held out the strawberries to him again. “Surely, you are allowed to tell me how he got into the shipping business? How important his family is? Just the public knowledge. I am supposed to work for him. He is my employer. How could I serve him well and proper, if I do not even know these basic things?”

Mr. Eames eyed the berries she held out to him, obviously thorn between eating another one or leaving them all to her. He reached for another strawberry, while looking self-conscious over it. “His late father had a shipping business in Bristol – a merchant and Newfoundland fishing captain with a share in nine ships. Mr. Rogers started his own apprenticeship as sailor when he was eighteen.”

“Isn’t that somewhat old?” remarked Eleanor.

“Um… yes. His father had hoped that Mr. Rogers would enter the law or church. His younger brother Thomas could still get into the business. But then Mr. Rogers insisted he wished to follow in his father’s footsteps himself.”

Eleanor found this rumor most peculiar. _Why would a man prefer to be a sailor on a ship over having a comfortable life in the law, especially when he had the backing of his parents to pursue a life of leisure?_ She was sure there must have been a particular motivation or reason for a man of eighteen to decide he would rather suffer swabbing decks than study law.  “So, he completed his apprenticeship, I assume. How many years does that take?”

“Seven.” Mr. Eames picked another strawberry from the bowl.

“How many years do you still have to learn before you can be promoted to lieutenant, Mr. Eames?”

“M-me?” he stuttered. “Three years more.”

She came to sit beside him on the bed. “What about his wife?”

“He married into the Whetstone family,” said the young man. When Eleanor’s expression remained unimpressed, he explained, “Mr. Rogers’ late father-in-law, Sir Whetstone, was his father’s friend and neighbor, one of the wealthiest men of Bristol. He was made Rear-Admiral and knighted.”

She frowned. _So, he became a son-in-law of one of the highest ranked officers in the Royal Navy_. She was suddenly struck by an idea. “How long after he finished his apprenticeship did he marry Miss Whetstone?”

Mr. Eames seemed dumbfounded by that question. “Not long after, I think. Within months.”

 _There. I knew it._ Whether for mercenary reasons or love, Rogers decided on his current career for marital purposes. “Why did Mr. Rogers turn to privateering when he owns such a profitable company?”

“French privateers of Madagascar captured and destroyed almost half of his merchant fleet during the War. He desired to recuperate his losses.”

“What about the capture of the Manila galleons? Those made him a rich man, no doubt,” said Eleanor.

“Oh, no, miss,” said Mr. Eames. “There was a lawsuit with the East Company about having sold sea-unworthy ships to the Dutch in Guam. He had to pay his investors, the East Company and he had hardly anything left to pay the share of his crew who also filed a lawsuit. He had to file for bankruptcy, even sold his Bristol home.”  

“What about the profits from his book?”

“All went to paying off personal debts, miss.”

Eleanor was stunned. It sounded like Rogers was as penniless as she was. All he had left was some fabled notoriety and connections. For a moment she mused that he and her were pretty much in the same boat. She chuckled when she realized this was literally true. But the difference was that his connections were English, and hers were the pirates of Nassau – _who hate my guts_.

They had long finished the strawberries, and in the growing darkness, they had become two shadows talking. “I think I must go back, miss.” The young man rose from the bed. He gathered the bowls and plate onto the tray and put it outside. “Do you wish me to light the oil lamps?”

“Yes, please.”

After he lighted the wick that floated in the lamp oil of her sole lamp, he bowed.“Goodnight, Miss Guthrie.  I will leave the wine for you.” Mr. Eames walked out, locked the door and bolted it.

Eleanor drew up one leg and wrapped her hands around her knee, thinking over all that she had learned. _Woodes Rogers intends to make Nassau a prosperous trading harbor._ This English venture could make her own abandoned dreams for Nassau come true. The sole reason Eleanor had refused to leave with her father for Harbour Island after the Raid was because it had been her mother’s dream to see the place prosper. Eleanor had tried to make it work with the pirates. Aside from building her personal business empire, she had used the money spent in drink in her tavern to rebuild Fort Nassau, homes, sewage. But the pirates were satisfied with living in tents, drinking and fucking. It had frustrated her to no end how unwilling partners they had been in all of it. Only Captain Flint had similar dreams. But now Nassau had an alternative to Flint – it could have this Woodes Rogers.

Finally, Eleanor unbuttoned the black dress and kicked it aside. In her chemise, she lifted the blankets and laid herself down onto the bed. She dozed off with visions of what Nassau could become in her mind, feeling at peace with her fate for the first time since the Rosario Raid.

Unbeknownst to Eleanor, Rogers sat in his chair at his desk of his quarter, thinking about what Mr. Eames had told him after he inquired with the midshipman how Miss Guthrie was taking her imprisonment aboard the _Delicia_ and whether she had eaten all nutrients. It disturbed him greatly how she had managed to get that much information out of the young man. The issue was not the information itself. Mr. Eames could not have told her anything that was not common knowledge. Had she ever read his book, she would have discovered it for herself without interrogating a young man. It was the fact that she had manipulated Mr. Eames that concerned Rogers – using her wiles and offering the boy strawberries.

However, when he had told Miss Guthrie upon first meeting her that he was prepared, he spoke truthfully. He knew something about how certain women would manipulate a man into getting what they wanted – whether it was information, money, marriage. Mr. Eames was slightly younger than he had been, when he had been beguiled and manipulated by a girl no older than eleven even. So, Rogers did not blame the young man. But he would put a stop to Miss Guthrie manipulating anyone aboard his ship. And the sole reason he had let Mr. Eames service Miss Guthrie was to give her an opportunity to show her true colors.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Historical facts  
> Rosario Raid (1703): the aftermath I summarized is based on known facts.  
> Woodes Rogers: his book of his 3-year voyage is shown in Madi's hands and referenced by Chamberlain and Rackham. Thus we can assume the related voyage, circumstances and results are also part of the canon. 
> 
> Eleanor's age: she took over from Mr. Scott at 17 and Teach returns to the island 8 years later. So, Eleanor is 25 in S3 (fall 1715), and thus born in 1690. She would have been 12-13 during the raid. Aside from Madi, Eleanor is one of the only original Nassau inhabitants in the series, and why she thinks "I am Nassau" in the first chapter. 
> 
> Rape symbolism: She either witnessed a rape or nearly escaped a rape attempt (only one actually happened, not both). The rape of the "butcher's" daughter may be symbolic of the loss of her childhood, while a Spaniard did try to attempt to rape her. Or she did witness the necrophilic rape of the butcher's daughter, and then projects a dream-assault onto her 13 year old self. Represents Eleanor's toxic bond with violence and abuse, and how sex comes into play in this. 
> 
> The hero: A pirate helped her to get to safety during the raid (may have been Vane). She hoped that Vane would be her savior, her protector and thus may have conflated both. Since Vane watched Eleanor strut the beach when she was 13, he was on the island in 1703. Eleanor's mother would not have allowed her on the pirate beach though, so he may have arrived after. The dream-hero symbolizes "pirates protected Nassau" (Eleanor = a Nassau). Pirates also brought violence, abuse, desperate living circumstances. They are both a threat as well as a protector. So, Eleanor seeking shelter in the woods (woods- Woodes), and the pirate sending her away symbolizes Eleanor turning her back on piracy. 
> 
> Roses, myrtle berries, strawberries, Eleanor's mother: the rose, the heart-shaped red colored strawberries and the myrtle berries (with the pork) are symbols of love (Venus, Aphrodite, Freyja). Eleanor's ability to love died in the Rosario Raid (her mother's death in the rose dress). The eating of the strawberries and myrtle berries aims at restoring her health - mental and emotional health through love.
> 
> Literature: Little Red-Riding Hood, Charles Perrault


	3. A Lady

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's a new day. It's a new dawn. And instead of Mr. Eames servicing her, she gets a chambermaid. Rogers makes it very clear what he expects of her if she wants to live. Eleanor reveals to him how she managed to boss pirates around at seventeen. Rogers is not pleased at all, while Eleanor is shocked about Captain Flint's most recent atrocities and struggles with civilisation's expectations on how a woman ought to behave.

Piano music sounded from the house, while she stood in the sugar cane field where the sun beat down on her skin. The music stopped and her mother who had hair like the bright Bahamian sun stood in the doorway. “Eleanor!” she called. “Come and put your fine dress on, and your shoes. We’re going to Nassau. Don’t you want to see Nassau being built?”

Eleanor came out of her hiding place. She should have been a child, but she was a grown woman, in a black mourning dress. “What about father? Won’t he be cross?” He always acted embarrassed whenever they visited.

Green blue eyes her mother had, and the smile of an angel. “Don’t worry about your father. He wants you to meet a friend, newly arrived and barely made it through that tempest.” Her mother held out her hand for her to take. “But the storm has come and gone. It’s such a beautiful day, Eleanor. Come, I’ll be with you. You won’t be alone.” Eleanor grabbed her mother’s hand.

Feeling fresh and stronger the next morning, Eleanor clambered out of the bed and stared at the black dress on the floor. If she could, she would rip it to shreds, but it was all she had. Just then there was a knock on the door.

“Miss Guthrie, I have some heated water for you.” Mr. Eames unbolted the door and turned the key.

Before he could enter, Eleanor covered herself with her blanket. But Mr. Eames had only taken the bolt off. She waited several moments, and then eventually slowly opened the door ajar, enough to peek out. There was nobody and nothing to see, except for a tray with bread, cheese, oats, creamy milk and the last of the strawberries. Beside it stood buckets of water and a towel with a bar of rose scented soap resting on top it. Eleanor dragged the steaming water inside, before picking up the tray with her breakfast. She closed the door, threw the blanket onto her bed, and pulled the heavy buckets near the mirror with a groan.

She sighed with delight when she ducked her head in the water and washed her hair with the soap. Weeks of imprisonment and bad nourishment had made her hair brittle and course like straw. Letting her hair dry, she went to her tray and took a bite of the cheese. It only made her aware how hungry she was. Eleanor ate the bread, and the oats, and finally the last of yesterday’s strawberries. Taking off her chemise, she returned to the bucket of hot water to cleanse her body. She closed her eyes with the pleasurable experience of the steam of the warm water surrounding her. But as she stared into the mirror, she lifted her hand and touched her face. _I look gaunt and pale_. _And where lurks my pride and confidence?_

Without any warning the door opened. Startled, Eleanor dropped the soap and covered her breasts. She turned around, ready to scold Mr. Eames. Instead, there stood  a woman holding a pair of clothes in her arms. “May I help you?”

The woman was tall, her face sour, her eyes icy blue, and her auburn hair was neatly tight in a bun at the back of her head. “The governor requests your presence on the quarter deck. You should dress.” She laid a dress on Eleanor’s cot. 

 _So, this was the way of it now. She would be serviced by a woman, and Mr. Eames no doubt was relegated to another task_. Quickly, Eleanor flung her chemise over her naked body. “You must pardon me. I’ve never had a proper chambermaid before,” she said spitefully. “Is that how they dress all their employers?”

The woman threw the bathwater out into sea through the window. “Governor Rogers is my employer.” She put the bucket down and her hands in her sides. “You are a convict in need of someone to keep your things clean, your movement restricted and your door shut. As such you are the first daughter of privilege I have been able to serve whilst speaking my mind openly.”

Eleanor pressed her lips together while she picked up the stay the ‘chambermaid’ had laid on her bed. She frowned as her fingers fiddled with the confused mess of laces. She had never worn a corset before, preferring shirts and jackets above wide frocks. “I would have thought my story is well told by now, but I come from no privilege.”

“Don’t you? My understanding is that your father built a criminal enterprise and you inherited it.” Eleanor bit her lip and met the woman’s challenging stare, who then bent down and picked up her black dress and shoved it in a trunk. “The only difference between you and the ladies I have served in the past is that their families had better lawyers.” Eleanor widened her eyes. _This woman was frank, but perhaps not unlikable_. “Let’s not keep the governor waiting.”

Finally, Eleanor had managed to unlace the stay and pulled it on. As her head reappeared, she asked, “And by what name shall I call you then? Or should I simply refer to you as jailor?”

The servant came to stand before her and pulled the laces. “You can call me Mrs. Hudson.” She pulled hard enough to knock Eleanor’s breath out. “There that immediately improves your posture.”

The stay pulled her back erect. Her shoulder blades nearly touched. And when Eleanor looked at her breasts, they were pushed upwards like a pair of plums. Then Mrs. Hudson attached a triangular stomacher that covered the stay. Next followed the wool petticoat and matching mantua, all in a matching dark green. The color was muted enough to fit her age, while the lack of ornamentation and uniformity of color was like that of young, unmarried women. “I almost look like a proper lady in this.”

Mrs. Hudson turned her around and appraised her from top to toe. “Clothes do not make you a lady.”

Eleanor felt like sticking her tongue out at Mrs. Hudson, but instead she brushed her hand along the soft, warm wool of the dress. “My mother used to wear such dresses. She was a lady. She would have liked to see me in these.”

“What happened to her?”

Eleanor looked at her bare feet under the dress. “She died in the Rosario Raid. The debris of a building broke her neck.”

There was a moment of silence between both woman and Mrs. Hudson’s icy eyes shifted to a kinder expression. But then Mrs. Hudson shrugged, came around, picked up a brush and started to pull the knots out of her hair. When that torture was done, Mrs. Hudson twisted strands of hair from her temple to bind them at the back, while letting the rest of it hang free. “You have pretty hair. If you brush it well every day and evening, it will soon feel like silk again.” Mrs. Hudson nodded approvingly and gestured at her cheeks. “Pinch those. It will give you a healthy looking, rose-colored blush.”

Mrs. Hudson produced a pair of backless mules with a curved heel and pointed toes, such as Eleanor had never worn. And when Mrs. Hudson opened the door and ushered her out, she feared her first steps in it. But they were easier to walk in that they looked.

When she arrived on deck, Eleanor was met with the sight of open sea and the complete fleet sailing beneath a sheltered sky of dark blue and grey clouds. Mrs. Hudson pointed to the quarterdeck. “There he is. Try to act the lady there. ”

“I know how holy the quarterdeck is,” Eleanor muttered under her breath, before she climbed the stairs with the utmost, ceremonial care.

The governor stood with his back to her and his hands behind him. He turned his head at the sound of her step, nodded and invited her onto the quarterdeck with a welcoming wave of his hand. “Miss Guthrie.”

Eleanor was sure of it that Mrs. Hudson was watching her like a hawk. _She probably expects me to curtsy._ But Eleanor had never curtsied anyone in her life. They could dress her like a lady-in-waiting, they could demand of her to give the quarterdeck the respect it was due, but as a daughter of privilege and having owned the largest business in Nassau, she was any man’s equal. Eleanor lifted her chin, more daring than she had the last time she saw him, and waited patiently for him to speak, her hands folded in front of her.

He narrowed his eyes at her before turning away. He pointed at one of the navy’s ships, while he placed his other hand in his side. “The HMS _Milford_ , a hundred fifty soldiers, sixty guns. My naval escort. Behind her, the HMS _Rose_ , forty eight guns. The HMS _Shark_ , thirty guns. The _Willing Mind_ , twenty guns. She’s carrying two third of the farming implements and most of our food stuff. The _Buck_ , eighteen guns.”

Eleanor stared at the ships, counting the cannons, totaling one hundred seventy six. _Wil it be enough?_ _The Spanish Man O’ War that Captain Flint had captured carried ninety four guns. The_ _Walrus_ _had thirty. Ned Lowe’s_ _Fancy_ _that Charles Vane had captured carried twenty six guns._ She was unsure how many Rackham’s _Colonial Dawn_ counted. And those were not the sole ships of the pirate fleet at Nassau. Then there were the six cannons of the fort.

“The amount of energy it took for me to persuade my investors to fund this, it’s hard to properly convey.” He turned to face her. “This fleet, every ship at sea, every man contracted, every penny lent.” If other people lent the amount of money needed for this, it spoke of how trustworthy his investors believed him to be, Eleanor knew. “I am personally answerable for all of that.”

“I’m impressed,” she spoke truthfully. “Though somehow I don’t imagine that’s what this exercise intended to accomplish.”

He sighed and pointed at the smallest vessel. “The _Gloucestershire_. I wasn’t entirely sure I needed it, but seeing it was someone else’s money I figured it couldn’t hurt. She’s the one I can do without. The moment I believe you are no longer necessary for this endeavor you go on that ship. That ship turns back for London, and soon thereafter you swing over Wapping.”

And now he had finally gotten to his point – _I am at the mercy of his whim_. But then he had gotten her out of her cell, her sentence commuted, and would drag her all the way to Nassau in order to conquer it. Obviously, he believed he needed her, so she believed it an idle threat. “Except you can’t actually do any of those things.”

Rogers shifted his head sideways. “No? Why?”

“Because you don’t know that Samuel Wayne never once paid for a drink. Because you don’t know that the Boyd Brothers can’t be in the presence of any of Captain Multon’s crew. Because you don’t know which of the street merchants is in the pocket of the brothel madam. You don’t know. You don’t know. You don’t know.” She straightened her back some more. She was not that easily cowed. “But I do. To slay Nassau you must know her, and amidst all those ships, all these men and all that money, I am the only one who can introduce you.”

“Provided you tell me the truth.” He watched her steadily. “So,” he sighed and his tone became somewhat more accommodating. “Let us assume that those are now the rules of the game. I need to know everything you know of Nassau. If you withhold, if you manipulate, if you lie, you die.” His voice was warm and velvety, but deadly serious. She remembered what Mr. Eames had told her about the leader of the mutineers. Rogers expected her to tell him all of her history… her story, honestly. _My story for my life._ Any repeat of the little trick she had attempted the day before with Mr. Eames, and he would do as he said. “Shall we begin?”

Finally browbeaten, Eleanor lowered her eyes and nodded a slow consent. Three days ago she believed herself already dead anyway. But now, perhaps life might still prove worthwhile living. She followed him into his captain’s hut where a clerk sat waiting to take notes. Rogers offered her the chair opposite his desk and then seated himself into his own, his legs outstretched, his hands folded in front of him. “Let us start with the very beginning, Miss Guthrie. You were not born in New Providence, but brought there when your father started his business in Nassau. You and your mother lived inland.”

She sighed. “Yes, we had a cottage where we grew sugar cane, while my father ran his business in Nassau, until the Rosario Raid, in which my mother was killed and shortly afterwards my father left for Harbour Island.”

“But you remained. Why?”

“Nassau was my home.”

“How old were you then?”

She whispered, “Thirteen.”

Rogers raised his eyebrows. “And your father did not take you with him?”

Eleanor shook her head. “No. He asked me to, but when I said no, he put up little argument after Mr. Scott offered to be my guardian and try to keep the business running.” Even if her father had wished to take her, he would have been required to bound and tie her to his skiff.

“Did you like it?” Rogers asked.

“W-What?” Eleanor lifted her eyes in confusion.

“Indulge me. I just want to know how a motherless young girl liked to spend all of her days in such an establishment, forced to live on a beach or in the woods in a tent or hut.”

“I liked it better than my father’s new home. My father preferred to pretend he was a better, honest man than he actually was. At least those of us who stayed were honest about who they were. And our tavern still stood. I made it my home. I helped out with customers or watched and listened to what happened from the landing. Yes, I liked it – the noise, the people, the gossip.”

“You were never harmed?”

Eleanor shook her head. “No. The name Guthrie still meant something, even with the privateers settling on the beach. It would have cost them to ire my father to whom they had to sell their goods. They had nobody else to sell it to.”

“Was that a tactic you applied?”

“Yes.”

“And they accepted that from a woman?”

Eleanor bit her lip for a moment, before saying, “They had to accept it, but it angered them, _because_ I’m a woman.” She met his eyes, tried to read them.

“Because you are a _woman_ ,” he repeated after her, and she had to bite her tongue to prevent saying something nasty to him over it.

Tea was brought in and Rogers gestured for her to pour it. That was another reminder by him that she was a woman, just as the latest dress was. A woman was believed to behave with propriety, desire finery, and service tea to her father, husband or brother in the salon. She had scoffed at such a notion of pouring tea for her father the few times he visited and had it done by one of the serving girls. Whenever people pointed out that she was a woman, she believed they meant to remind her she was weak, at a disadvantage when negotiating.

But as Eleanor poured the tea into the delicate cups of china, she was surprised at the amount of peace this small routine task of the social contract seemed to give her. While Rogers and the clerk conferred with one another, she had a moment to breathe, collect her thoughts. And when she handed him his cup, she realized she was in control of the moment. She noted how Rogers had to come to her, instead of her to him, and for a slight moment his hand was uncertain at the receiving end as it required an effort from him to avoid his pants from being scalded with hot tea. In a flash, Eleanor realized that the china and her dress of class forced men to behave, speak and move with delicacy themselves, how it put them out of their comfort zone.

“Thank you,” Rogers said and walked to his side of the desk, circling his spoon to help absolve the sugar. “So, how did you learn the business and took over?”

Eleanor sat down and set her cup in front of on the desk, allowing it to cool. “At first, when my father left, I only watched. My guardian, a slave belonging to my father ran the operation instead. Eventually, I felt it was time I stepped in.”

Rogers lifted his cup to drink and asked, “How old were you at this point?”

“I was seventeen.”

Rogers’ cup of tea halted mid-air. He chuckled incredulously. “How does one persuade an island full of thieves and murderers to respect the authority of a seventeen year old girl?”

“I identified the one they were most afraid of and I threw him off the island.”

Rogers set his cup back on the saucer in his other hand. “What was his name?”

“His name was Edward Teach.”

Rogers straightened his shoulders and stared at her. He understood well enough of whom she was speaking - Blackbeard was probably the most formidably known pirate in the West Indies, besides Flint. Rogers addressed his clerk. “You’re getting all of this, yes? Ahm, please, continue.” When he sat down again, Rogers was far less relaxed, reaching into his pocket.

“He sailed at the head of a pirate fleet with a man named Benjamin Hornigold. I conspired with Hornigold, offered him control over Fort Nassau to turn against Teach. Eventually I isolated him from all of his former allies, until it was just him and his protégé – a young captain he had groomed in his image, trained as a peerless fighter.” She picked up her cup and drank from it “Had they stayed together, they might have resisted me.”

“But the protégé turned?”

“Yes,” she said. “And once he sided with me, Teach had no choice but to withdraw. After that, my credibility with the crew on the beach was in good order.”

Rogers pondered this for a moment, before asking, “And the protégé. What was his name?”

She chose her pace of answer with care. “His name was Charles Vane.”

Rogers face hardened and he stared at her angrily. In a low voice, he spoke to the clerk, “Leave us please. Now!” When the clerk was gone, the governor said coldly, “I need very specific answers to the following questions.”

 _Here it comes_. “Ask me what you want to ask me,” she said without any guile.  

“Charles Vane sided with you?”

“Yes.”

“Betrayed his mentor, _betrayed_ Edward Teach, for _you_?”

“Yes.”

“You were…” Rogers raised his eyebrows in a suggestive manner.

Eleanor saved him the effort to find the words to pose the question delicately. As bluntly and honest as she could, she said, “I was fucking him.” Though she respected the amount of self control Rogers had over his face, his eyes did not belie he was seething inside. He rose from the chair and started to walk out of the room. “Where are you going?” she asked in a slight panic.

He halted mid-step, turned and hovered above her. “To inform the captain of the _Gloucestershire_ he’s going home, plus one passenger.”

 _What is it with men about women choosing a lover or owning a business? He married into a family of wealthy connections and benefactors. Is that not mercenary?_ She had used the same rules as her father once did, or did the exact same thing to pirates and their crew as much as pirates did amongst themselves. And while men were respected for it, looked up for it, a woman was scorned for it, hated for it. “You never asked me.”

“I need to ask?”

“I never lied.”

“I was fully prepared to set foot on that island and say his name, say that the universal pardon had an exception, put my credibility at risk solely based on your council. And it was all to settle a personal feud with a former lover?”

The contempt in his face and voice made her cringe, but also provoked her. “Why did you bring me here?” she cried in frustration. “You know these men’s names. You know the things they have done. But I know them. I know Flint is dangerous, but he can be reasoned with. I know Rackham is devious, but all he cares about is his legacy.” She tried to explain it, that it went beyond a personal feud. “Because I have history with Charles Vane I know him most of all. I’m all too aware what he’s capable of destroying when he sets his mind on it. I underestimated him and I lost my father. The Lord Governor Ashe underestimated him and Charlestown burned. What is it you’d like him to take from you?”

Rogers’ eyes looked away for a moment, before they surveyed her again with disgust. Darkly he said, “Why in God’s name would I trust you?”

She sighed. “Nassau is my father’s house. It is my birthright and I am obligated to see it set right, to see its monsters driven out. You don’t have to trust me, because we have mutual self-interest, and that makes for better partners.”

He narrowed his eyes at her. Rogers whirled around and paced his cabin, while rubbing his chin. “You want to end piracy in Nassau?”

“Yes.”

“Why? Your father and you had a lucrative business because of it for years.”

“A business that my father and I tried to turn into a legitimate one. A pirate murdered my father; a pirate surrendered me to England to see me hanged, piracy was the downfall of my business, and it will destroy Nassau  – if not by you, by Spain or the French in retaliation. Ultimately piracy destroys and halts all progress.” She whispered, “I believed otherwise for too long after my father had realized the truth of it already and had taken measures to save me from myself.” She felt a pressure behind her eyes, but she bit her teeth together and swallowed down the suffocating feeling in her throat. “But Charles would not have it. He wants no other king on the island, but himself. So, he murdered my father and burned Charlestown.”

Rogers returned to his desk and leaned on it with both hands. His eyes searched for signs in her face. She felt tired, exhausted and defeated. Rogers nodded in thought. His earlier disgust had evaporated, but not his distrust. “Alright. You said earlier today you were impressed by my fleet. Let us assume for a moment that worst comes to worst. How does it compare with the pirate fleet at Nassau?”

“Even matched.” She expected Rogers to be disappointed in hearing this, but if he felt it, he did not show it. “It would end as a massacre on both sides, especially with Captain Flint at the helm.”

“You say you believe he is a man that can be reasoned with.”

“Yes.”

“He is causing mayhem in the American Colonies at the moment, attacks, plunders and burns towns. Murders governors and their wives in their beds. He has become the terror of the English colonies, more than Charles Vane.”

Eleanor was startled by this news. “What?”

“In fact, all commerce has stopped in the whole region for several weeks now, mostly because of him. It is as if he is at war with England itself. His actions hastened the approval by Whitehall and the Lords Proprietor to agree to my plans. So, I am genuinely puzzled that you did not give his name as a pirate who would be hard to sway.”

Eleanor was genuinely perplexed. “No, I was not aware of this,” she protested. “I have been in prison all these weeks, as we both know.” _What the fuck had happened in Charlestown other than Charles destroying it?_

“And yet, despite learning of it now, you still believe he is a man of reason?”

“Captain Flint is a pirate out of necessity, not because he likes it. He wanted a peaceful life, away from the sea. He is a cultured man who loves his books, drinking tea, listening to the piano, a puritan wife. If he has attacked the colonies, he does so because he believes it is necessary for the safety of Nassau.”

“Hmmm.” Rogers frowned skeptically and stared at the empty china cup before him.

Eleanor remembered how Rogers expected her to volunteer information. She was as of yet still undecided to reveal all she knew of Flint, but she could say this, “What I am certain of is that it would be better for you if Flint is not in Nassau to mount a defense. And even better if you were to get him on your side. His commitment to Nassau’s progress runs perhaps as deep as mine.”

“I will think on this.” He raised his eyes and looked at her. “Mrs. Hudson will see you returned to your room.” He put his hands on the desk and rose from his chair. “You remain aboard another day, Miss Guthrie.” He walked to the large window behind the desk, turned his back on her and watched the waters they were sailing away from. Eleanor stood, unsure of what he expected from her. Rogers inclined his head sideways, without really looking at her. “You are dismissed.”

When she was gone, for a long while Rogers sat with his hands in his hair over his desk. Eventually, he opened a drawer of his desk and took out a miniature portrait of a young woman who had just come out. Rogers had not looked at it for a while, though he carried it with him everywhere since it had been in his possession. He took the portrait of the girl with blonde, curly hair, shy smile and dark eyes in his hands and his thumb traced the face. Sarah looked so full of hope and admiration on it. She had given the miniature to him in the last two years of his apprenticeship while he was sailing in Newfoundland, promising him she would ward off any suitor and wait for him.

But it all began when Sarah had been eleven years old and invited him, the eldest son of the neighbors, during his school holidays to her playing at tea-time. Sarah had him pretend he was her husband and she his dutiful wife serving him his tea. Initially, he believed himself to indulge in a child’s fantasy game, but that child had presented such a picture that before long he was pulled into her vision, and he told his stunned father he wanted to be a sailor, because “Sarah Whetstone wishes me for her husband.”

“And why can’t she marry a lawyer or priest?” his father argued. “You may even get a political career out of it. The Whetstones are rich. We are rich. Besides, we are good friends. Who is she to turn her nose down against your career?”

“She is the daughter of the Commodore. He does not want a clergyman or a lawyer for a son-in-law. For your friendship’s sake he might overlook that I am not in the Royal Navy, but he wants a man of the sea for a son.”

His father was reluctant to give up the dream of his eldest son making a career in the law, but by the end of the summer he relented. Rogers carefully lay the portrait back in the drawer, closed and locked it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Eleanor's dream: decision to live, though it will require some changes. References Shakespear's Tempest and Ariel's song, with Richard Guthrie as Prospero and Eleanor's mother as Ariel wanting her to meet her Ferdinand, who laments the storm that life can be at times. 
> 
> The corset of society's expectations of a woman: (also remarked on by the show's writers). Before, Eleanor had to prove she could do as well as a man. Now, she has to behave and function within the English social gender contract, reflected in her "new clothes", including the stay (they weren't as bad as the 19th century ones), and in return men treat her cordially and protective. I fleshed it out with Eleanor serving tea to the men. When Eleanor breaks the code by being blunt about her sexual life, we see Rogers lift the protection. Pirates too expect women to behave in a certain way, but without a social contract in return - men are free to namecall, rape, beat, and murder women without a consequence (Hamund's continued abuse of Max; Vane's words to Eleanor in relation to Ned Low). A woman is either forced to seek a pirate willing to be her personal bodyguard in return for sexual favors (Eleanor-Vane), or become an actual fighter like Anne Bonny. 
> 
> Rogers backstory of Sarah:  
> Facts - The marriage was performed in London on the trip where they accompanied Sarah's father for his elevation to knighthood and Rear-Admiral. Rogers became a freeman of Bristol (with the right to vote) because of it.  
> Speculation - Starting his sailor apprenticeship at 18 was an oddity. It seems there was another plan for Rogers' career originally. Possibly both fathers concocted the match, but this could have been achieved with the younger brother Thomas. Rogers could not have wooed Sarah much while he was in Newfoundland. Hence I have the deal struck between 18 year old Rogers and 11 year old Sarah, with Sarah herself as the driving force behind it (comparable to Middlemarch's Rosamund, but far younger).


	4. The Reader

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eleanor learns how long it may take before they reach Nassau and realizes she cannot bear confinement in the hull for that long without having anything to do. She explains to Rogers how she maintained control for close to eight years and manages to ease some of his suspicions about her, for which she is rewarded with a book to read to occupy her mind. Mrs. Hudson reveals slightly too much regarding the state of Rogers' marriage.

The _Gloucester_ was not mentioned again. Its continual presence and her view of it, whenever she was allowed on deck, was reminder enough. After her first confrontation in Rogers’ office, she was allowed on deck daily for an hour in the company of Mrs. Hudson for exercise and fresh air. Eleanor saw little of Rogers. Even when he was on deck while she was, he paid her little or no attention except for an acknowledging nod.

The day after they passed the South West tip of Ireland, Eleanor noticed Mr. Eames lowering a device in the water. At first she thought he was measuring the knot speed, but as she edged closer the device seemed more akin to a thermometer. “Beg pardon, may I ask why you are measuring the temperature of the water?”

“I am verifying the Governor’s knowledge about ocean currents.” Eleanor shook her head to indicate that helped her little in understanding. Mr. Eames smiled. “It has to do with finding a faster route for the Americas than the usual one.”

For Eleanor who so far only had been interested in the whereabouts of ships sailing near the Bahamas, transatlantic voyages were a mystery. “Why? Captain Hume sailed from the Bahamas to England in little over a fortnight. Can it be done quicker?”

“Oh no, Miss Guthrie. Ships are required to take an entirely different route from the Americas to Europe than to the Americas. One can sail on the westerlies from Florida to Europe fast enough, but the same route usually goes against those winds. So, most ships sail to the Azores west of Africa and cross the Atlantic on the trade winds that take you to the Caribbean.”

Eleanor had seen enough maps to know they were not on that route. “Mrs. Hudson told me yesterday that was Ireland we saw, and I’m fairly certain that is not in the direction of Africa.”

“Correct,” nodded Mr. Eames. “The Captain General wishes to take another route. The common route to the Caribbean is the Spanish route. He wishes to establish another one.”

She frowned. “Spain and England are at peace now, aren’t they?”

“Yes, but we were not eight years ago, when he tried it the first time to avoid the Spanish. Besides this route might save time.” Before Eleanor could interrupt him again, Mr. Eames took out a pencil and his notebook. “During his time with whalers in Newfoundland, Governor Rogers learned of a particular water phenomenon. Some parts of the Atlantic are warmer than others, even carrying kelp with them, though there is no land nearby. Whalers mapped these waters, because whales use it as a route.” Mr. Eames made a quick drawing of two landmasses and what appeared to be a stream between them. “It's a river of warm water in the Atlantic, going only in one direction, from the Caribbean to Ireland and the Channel. So, together with the westerlies this stream of warm water slow ships down. However, depending on the season the westerlies taper down, and if you avoid the warm stream, we could probably make it to the Bahamas in less than fifty days.”

“Fifty days!” Eleanor said in shock. “That is close to two months.”

“Well, the Spanish route takes three months.” Mr. Eames shut his book of notations.

Frowning, Eleanor said, “You were measuring the temperature of the water, so we can avoid this Atlantic warm river?”

“Exactly! We will probably hit that stream in a few days. But then we will sail south until we have crossed it, and turn west again.”

Eleanor was displeased at hearing the voyage might take close to two months. Not that she felt ready to face Nassau, just yet. But being stuck in the hull of a ship for that long, without anything to do and only one hour on deck, seemed worse.

It was not until they hit that stream of warm water, that Eleanor was called to Rogers’ office to have the continuation of her story put on record. This time, instead of wanting to know how she managed to have pirates listen to her, Rogers wished to know how she had maintained her seat of power for close to eight years.

“Well, I owned the tavern, where sailors and men came to drink. Drunk sailors have a hard time keeping their tongue, and so were a source for leads on ships to hunt. I used part of my gains to invest in establishments owned by other business men, such as Mr. Noonan of the brothel, where men reveal their secrets to the whores.” Eleanor did not fail to notice that Rogers tapped his fingers on his desk. Eleanor ignored this sign of his annoyance at the subject. “All the gathered leads I would pass on to pirate captains who made good profit, could manage their crew and prevent them from murdering captives who surrendered, who did not oppose my interests or sought to sell their goods elsewhere.” Eleanor explained how she would cease to give further leads to pirates who were bad for business, how she paid less for bloodied barrels, and gave up rebellious pirate captains as leads for other pirates to hunt.

“You owned the street basically.” The governor stood and turned his back to her as he looked out of his quarterdeck window. In a low, restrained voice, he said, “And you used their self-interest to either keep them in line or serve your own interest.”

Eleanor fumbled her dress. “In a way, yes. I used one man’s greed against another’s.”

 Rogers turned and stared at her. She could almost hear him think – _and a man’s lusts too._ “Which pirates did you favor with leads?”

“Well, Charles Vane originally, until he became too rash, let his crew run wild and acted against my own interests. Captain Flint was far more reliable. But these two were the strongest and most cunning Nassau pirates at sea.”

The governor approached the desk and rested his hands on the back of his chair, raising his eyes skeptically. “This caused no rivalry between them?”

Eleanor bit her lower lip. “There was. Vane murdered men of Flint’s crew who were crucial for Captain Flint to remain captain of the _Walrus_ after another crew member challenged him for the captaincy. A ship belongs to the crews, not the captain, and his word is only law during a battle. In the end, it made no matter. Flint bested his challenger for captaincy in a fight.”

Rogers squinted at her. His arm and shoulder were tense. “Was it just leads and captaincy that Flint and Vane competed over with each other?”

Eleanor gaped at Rogers. She glanced at the clerk for a moment, realizing Rogers wished to know whether Flint was a lover of hers too. There was a time when Eleanor had been very much attracted to Flint, and there even had been a short moment where she thought that Flint would have kissed her, bedded her when he felt betrayed by Miranda Barlow and wound up wandering into her bedroom. Eleanor would have let him too if Flint had wanted it. The moment passed though, with Flint kissing her forehead, like a father or elder brother. When later Miranda warned Eleanor that Flint would never see Miranda as his enemy, Eleanor had known deep down that Miranda had spoken the truth. Flint’s loyalty to Mrs. Barlow was indestructible. Flint’s dislike for Vane was grounded in Charles’ lack of vision when it came to Nassau. But Rogers’ question made her wonder whether Charles ever feared that Flint would become her lover.

“Well?” said Rogers as his eyes hardened at her with every passing moment. His hand gripped the back of the chair more tightly.

The notion alone struck her as ridiculous. _Surely, Charles knew that Flint visited Miranda inland whenever he could._ Besides, Eleanor had given her maidenhood to Charles. He was the only man she ever slept with. Eleanor shook her head, and gave Rogers a short and clear spoken answer. “No.”

The governor’s features softened somewhat. He let go of the chair’s back, eased himself down into the seat and smiled. “Perhaps, it is time to call for tea.”

And so, the ritual of Eleanor preparing his cup repeated itself, with the difference that Rogers did not confer with the clerk this time, but simply sat back and watched her as she poured tea and spooned sugar into his cup. As concentrated as she was on the tea, he studied her hands and her wrist. Slowly, his eyes trailed her arm and her figure until they settled on her face for a while. Who needed to look at a miniature portrait of his wife, when a woman who resembled her was preparing his tea for him. Well, _resemble_ was an exaggeration. Apart from the blonde hair there were too many differences between them. Miss Guthrie had blue eyes and under the influence of light they appeared greenish. She had fuller, pouting lips. She was taller, her face longer. Most importantly, her eyes and the set of her jaw were fiercer, almost masculine, with a feral type of attractiveness that usually offended him. But as he traced her hands holding the spoon of sugar and tipping it into tea, he noticed her figure was filling out somewhat - especially above her bodice. He studied her eyelashes that threw a shadow on her cheekbones, adorned with a newly acquired blush. Rogers was struck by the notion that indeed she was quite feminine and very attractive.

At some level, Eleanor was aware enough of Rogers appraising her in a manner he had not before, so that when she handed him his cup, she felt quite shaken, whereas this time his was steady and reassuring, as was his smile.

Finally, they resumed her story and Rogers wanted to know more about rivalries between other crews as well as who was part of the street and in her pocket, other than Mr. Noonan. When he finally dismissed the clerk, he inquired after her accommodations on the ship and how well Mrs. Hudson serviced her. “When you prepared tea earlier, it struck me that you have regained some color, Miss Guthrie. And your posture and figure seem stronger than before. I take it that you feel healthier. At least you look healthier.”

Eleanor dropped her eyes. “Yes, thank you. And my room is alright, given the circumstances. Last time I was seasick all the way to London, but the fresh air of the window does wonders.”

“Good,” he smiled pleased. “It does neither of us any good if you could not keep your food down. Are there any particular preferences you have that I may tell my cook?” He rolled his eyes. “Well, for as long as there is still some choice.”

It was such a simple genuine question, so easily asked, costing nothing, and yet one Eleanor had so rarely experienced that it impacted her like an earthquake. Only her mother and Mr. Scott had ever shown interest in her little preferences or her health. Max and Charles had professed to love her, murdered or intended to steal for her. _But had they ever even asked what I wanted, what I preferred?_ _No, they tended to tell her what they believed was best for her, told her what to feel, think and want, and they had resented her when her preferences did not agree with that._ But here was a man who would send her back to London to be hanged over Wapping without thinking twice, and yet he was far more interested in seeing to her needs and preferences than any of them ever had.  

“I am mostly fond of fish,” she said.

Rogers laughed, a startling warm one. “Then you are in luck. It will be the sole fresh thing we will not run out of.”

Hesitantly but emboldened, Eleanor then asked, “May I ask you for a favor?”

“Ask, Miss Guthrie, and I will judge whether I will or can.”

“I confess I am rather bored, sir. I understand the need of my general confinement and that there is little to do for me aboard a ship, but I prefer to be preoccupied with something.”

“Hmmm,” said Rogers with a far more serious face. “You have led an active life and have an active mind. Perhaps Mrs. Hudson can serve you more as a companion?” That was not exactly what Eleanor had in mind, and it must have shown on her face, because Rogers volunteered, “And since we are in open water, you are free to come on deck whenever you wish it by day.”

“Thank you.” She thought she ought to be grateful of the freedom of movement, but for some reason she believed that looking out onto sea would not do all that much for her, nor would sitting with Mrs. Hudson. She had never just sat with anyone throughout an evening, but she believed it usually meant sitting still and embroider or something of that nature.

Again, Rogers was perceptive enough of her hesitation. He sighed. “Did you have anything in particular in mind yourself, Miss Guthrie? If you do, then please be frank about it. I’m not a mind reader, you know.”

Her eyes fell on a stash of books on a shelf. “Perhaps I could have something to read?”

 “A book?” Rogers said astonished. “That is what you would have of me?” His smile returned and he chuckled. “Why did you not say so immediately? Of course, you can have a book.” He walked to the shelf. “My library is at your disposal. What type of books have your preference?”

Eleanor honestly could not answer that. In Nassau, she had never read much, other than the bookkeeping. Reading anything else seemed a waste of time. Adventure stories were nonsensical flights of reality in her eyes. She was no seafaring captain and therefore had no need to read naval or voyage books either. “I have no preference, really. I am not a great reader.” Then she remembered he had actually written a book of his own. “Perhaps the book about your voyage?”

Rogers squinted. “No, I think not.” Her smile faltered. She had not meant much by it, except satisfying her curiosity about him. Then he asked, “Would you allow me to pick one for you?”

Eleanor nodded, still feeling like a scolded child, while Rogers turned and perused his books. Finally, he pulled one out, approached her and held it out for her. She took the book in hand and read the title. “An Essay Concerning Human Understanding, by John Locke.” Eleanor leafed through it and then shut it without comment.

“I do not carry my own book with me. I have no need to read it, since I wrote it,” said he. “And I actually doubt my memoirs of my voyage would satisfy your curiosity.” His eyes sparkled amused, and there was a hint of a smile. “If you wish to be a studier of character and unlock the secret of my soul, Miss Guthrie, then you may find this one far more rewarding.” He turned away from her. “Good day.”

As Eleanor walked back with Mrs. Hudson to her room, she was completely puzzled by it all. Once inside, Eleanor turned the book over in her hands. _What had just happened? Did Rogers attempt to distract me with the book from learning facts about him, or had he been sincere? Did he just patronize me, like Charles would do? Or did he actually acknowledge my need to know him better?_ In a far more practical sense, Eleanor wondered how a philosophical work as that of Locke’s could help her understand her captor better. _What use is philosophical writing to a practical woman?_ She tended to admire men who were great thinkers, but believed they must have lives of ease and comfort where others could take care of the practical for them.

Eleanor dropped the book on her little table. She laid herself down on her bed and stared at the ceiling. But she had done that too many times, and she was much too restless. Then she remembered he had promised to allow her freedom of movement. She could not remember whether Mrs. Hudson had bolted her door. Eleanor got up and tried the door. It swung open. _I might as well go on deck then_.

As soon as she did, she noticed the men glancing at her. She usually went on deck in the morning, after breakfast, and in the company of Mrs. Hudson. Never this close to noon. At least Mr. Eames nodded in greeting to her.

“Why are you on deck?” asked Commodore Chamberlain from behind her.

Eleanor turned around and faced the commodore. That man aimed at showing his disdain and distrust of her whenever he had the opportunity. But his snobbish attitude did not hurt her, and instead sparked her pride. Eleanor lay her head to the side. “My door was open and the Lord Governor has given me permission to seek the air whenever I wish by day, sir. Did he not yet inform you of this?” Chamberlain sniffed, straightened his back, and pressed his lips together even more than she believed could be possible. “Come, sir,” she said with a pleasing sweetness. “Where would I go? Where would I flee? Are we not all something of a prisoner aboard a ship unless we prefer to drown?”

Just then Mrs. Hudson joined her, anxious and smiling. “It's alright, Commodore. I will remain with her.”

“Stay out of our way and on the quarterdeck.” Chamberlain turned without another word or look.

“Hateful man,” Eleanor muttered under her breath. And then she said to Mrs. Hudson, “Is he as unpleasant to you as he is to me?”

“Women are merely tolerated aboard,” said Mrs. Hudson. “And it does you no good to challenge that man. He is the head of the Royal Navy here.”

Eleanor followed Mrs. Hudson up the stairs. When she looked at the horizon, she saw the fleet as a miniature archipelago of sailing islands, surrounded by an ocean of deep blue hue, the water lapping and bumping against the hulls. The past days the sky had been a blue-grey blanket of heavy clouds, but today a watery sun tried to reach out through a thin misty sheet. This time of the year, even this far north for her, the veiled sun was warm enough to make her close her eyes and experience how it warmed her skin.

When Eleanor opened her eyes again, she noticed Mrs. Hudson quietly standing next to her, looking out across the stern. The woman had some melancholy air about her. “Do you have children, Mrs. Hudson?”

The woman looked up surprised at Eleanor, and then fast away again. “Yes,” she whispered. “A boy and a girl.”

“What are their names?”

“David and Jane.”

Normally mothers volunteered information about their children freely to anyone who showed interest in them, but not Mrs. Hudson. If Mrs. Hudson did not want to discuss her children with Eleanor, she was not going to press. Instead, she asked, “How long have you been in the governor’s employment?”

“Close to ten years.”

“You mentioned you serviced daughters of privilege before me.” Eleanor twiddled her thumbs. “I suppose you serviced the governor’s wife all that time?”

 “And his daughters.”

At that moment, Eleanor felt some pity for Mrs. Hudson. In order to feed her own children, she had taken care of another person’s children and was now forced to sail to the other side of the world and leave them behind. _At least the men and women in my service either had their family with them or had none_. “How many children does the governor have?”

“A son and two daughters. William will be ten soon. Sarah is eight and Mary seven. His youngest son, Thomas, never survived his infancy unfortunately. Caught a fever. Thomas would have been three this year.”

For a moment, Eleanor was stupefied. While she had known he had a family, hearing their ages and names made it less abstract. _He is a father of three. And he too is leaving them behind somewhere in England. At least they have their mother, though, unlike Mrs. Hudson’s children_. “What are his daughters like?”

Mrs. Hudson’s ice blue eyes met hers for a moment. “Like most daughters of privilege - accustomed to large dinner parties and balls, pony rides and gowns. Mrs. Rogers requires the best of the best for herself and her children, whether there is money for it or not. Little Sarah is much like her mother, and not in name alone. Mary is a sweet child though.”

The financial remark did not escape Eleanor’s notice. It seemed to her that Mrs. Hudson was not overly fond of Rogers’ wife. Or at least, Mrs. Hudson sounded as critical of Rogers’ wife as she was of Eleanor.  “My father had the good sense to have me tutored in economics and business, instead of looking pretty, embroider and hold dinners,” she said.

Mrs. Hudson sniffed in disapproval. “And look where it got you.”

“Still alive in service of a man, who seems to have had his fair share of loss. And despite all that, people still invested and lent him plenty for this operation, trusted him. If it teaches me anything it is not to give up.”

 “You compare yourself to the Lord Governor?” scolded the other woman. Mrs. Hudson shook her head in remonstration. “You are a convicted pirate. You have no credibility. His credibility relies on the fact that he paid off every penny of his debt – filed for bankruptcy, sold his home and ensured no repeat of personal debt by having sent his wife and children to live with his far more prudent mother in Bristol, regardless how Mrs. Rogers liked it.” The woman pressed her thin lips together, as if she suddenly realized she had said too much.  She stepped towards the rail of the stern, resolved to say no more.

Eleanor touted her lips in surprise and sucked in her breadth. _He married rich, but at the same time his wife had been his financial ruin. Not only pirates do not know how to manage their spoils_. “You are a very loyal servant to the governor,” whispered Eleanor. “What you disclosed will never pass from my lips. And I'm sorry if I offended you.”

Mrs. Hudson clenched her hands into fists and turned around slowly, facing her. Eleanor thought she looked truly shaken. “You are the first daughter of privilege to apologize to her chambermaid.”

“I doubt many reigned over a criminal enterprise in a pirate’s republic either.” Eleanor took a step closer. “My guardian was my father’s slave, Mrs. Hudson, but he was more of a father to me than my real one, after my mother’s death. Nassau is different. New Providence is different. It is a meritocracy of the cunning and the physically powerful. My father clung to his privilege, remaining as far away as possible from his source of income, pretending he was a respectable man. He hated the truth of the source of his fortune.” Eleanor licked her lips and tasted the salt from the sea-air on it. “I never did though. There are many things that I have done, that I had others do, for which I’m ashamed now, but recognizing that most people – no matter to whom they were born or what color skin they have - are human beings who can feel as much pain and joy as I can is not one of those things. Still, we all have our roles to play. So, I will be a father’s privileged daughter, convict and informer and you will be mother, servant and companion.”

Mrs. Hudson stared at Eleanor, until she finally lowered her eyes and bowed her head to Eleanor. That evening, as Mrs. Hudson sat with her with her, sowing and mending, Eleanor’s eyes fell on the book that Rogers had lent her. If she had been allowed more of a practical occupation other than embroidery, she would never have made it passed the first few pages. It was a philosophical work about the nature of the mind, of language and formation of personality. Eleanor nearly threw it aside again, but not wanting to provoke Mrs. Hudson into giving her disapproving looks for sitting idly, she frowned and persisted.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Twelfth Night: Allusion to Duke Orsino telling Viola he has unclasped for her the book to his secret soul, though Rogers does not give the bok as a key for Eleanor to understand him, but to form her. 
> 
> North & South (Elizabeth Gaskel): The tea serving scene where Margaret Hale serves her father and his guest John Thornton tea . Thornton is entranced by a bracelet around her wrist.
> 
> Science: beside the social gender contract, society brings culture, philosophy and science exampled by Mr. Eames measuring the temperature of the seawater to check for the Gulf Stream. 
> 
> Gulf Stream: known by Spain since the 16th century and used to sail from the Caribbean to Spain. Benjamin Franklin gave the stream its current name and published the map of it in 1770 with the help of whaler's info. English merchants were unaware of it. Commonly the voyage from North America to England took 2 weeks, but 3 months in the opposite direction, via the trade wind Azore-Caribbean route because of the drag the Gulf Stream causes. It is fiction that Rogers uses this knowledge to Nassau 55 years ahead. His historical voyage to Nassau in 1718 took 3 months, via Canary Islands. The show truncated the sea voyage and passes along Bermuda (where Hornigold gets on board, near the Sargossa sea), the sole English island colony 12 days away. This means the show uses the fast route via Ireland, avoiding the Gulf Stream and using the tradewinds to Bermuda and from there to the Bahamas. The Azores route would take him straight to the Bahamas, and conflicts with what we see in the show. Since, Rogers apprenticed as a sailor in Newfoundland (and thus whalers), I solved this by allowing Rogers to try and use whaler knowledge.
> 
> Rogers' marriage: Rogers returned a poorer man than he left England after his 'round the world trip, despite the many prize ships, because Sarah built up debt. It is a logical inferrence that Sarah may have had a hole in her hand or did not know how to manage money. Again this compares to Middlemarch's Rosamund.
> 
> Rogers' children: William was born in 1706, Sarah in 1707 and Mary in 1708 (after Rogers already sailed off). His second son Woodes was born in August 1712 and died in April 1713 (Thank you Melis_Ash for filling in the unknowns). Since his brother died on his voyage, I named the second son after Thomas instead. Mary died in 1712. In this fanfic she still lives in 1715. The brother's name is mentioned as being John in some sources, but the most reliable sources refer to him as Thomas (confirmed in 4x03).
> 
> Embroidery: funny in light of 4.01


	5. The Reformed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rogers wants to know how Eleanor ended up in a London prison cell despite her previous success to have control over Nassau for eight years. It leads to a confession of an act of desperation she has not forgiven herself for. She has a strange confrontational dream and wakes to witness the birth of dawn. Rogers is surprisingly understanding of it all, prompting Eleanor to discuss the book he lent her and the subject of reformation.

Twiddling his hands in his pockets, Rogers paced his office. “You told me all about how you acquired power over Nassau, over the hundreds of murderers and thieves, and what you did to maintain your business.” He stopped and turned to face her, his feet wide. “But what you have left out so far was how you ended up being surrendered to Captain Hume of the HMS _Scarborough_. How did you come to lose it all?”

Eleanor flinched. She had read enough of Locke’s book already to know that Rogers was not simply asking her who had betrayed her, what others had done to her, but what she perceived as her mistakes that caused her to end up in a London prison cell. She struggled to find her voice and licked her lips. Rogers walked to his bar where he had a bottle of brandy. He poured it into a tin cup, and then surprisingly held the cup out to her. Eleanor reached for it, but could not entirely keep her hand from shaking. She took a sip. It tasted entirely different than rum. Rum was sweet, heady with a mix of spice, vanilla and caramel - closer to running syrup. But the brandy was hot foremost, instantly warming her mouth. She swallowed and could feel the burning sensation seep all the way to her stomach.

“It b-began when Captain Hume came to arrest my father at Harbour Island. Though he escaped, my father foresaw that England wanted to end piracy and recapture New Providence." Eleanor took another sip from the brandy. This time she could taste the sweeter after-taste behind the burn of the alcohol. "But I did not. The pirate republic was all I knew for most of my life. England stopped caring what happened to us for so long. I could not imagine them going through the trouble for it.”

As she said it, she realized how silly that had been of her. But then, Nassau was all she had ever truly known. She had never stepped a foot off the island, not even to see her father at Harbour Island. Even though she had barely seen anything but the hull of a ship, endless water, a filled court room and a dank prison cell, the short glimpse of London and the vastness of the ocean had impressed her with its sheer size and how tiny her world and home truly was. It baffled her almost that nobody had actually tried to squash piracy in Nassau for good before. Shyly she glanced at Rogers, who had circled back to his chair and leaned on it.

“Go on,” he said with a sympathetic smile to her.

She needed another sip of the brandy for this. With each sip the liquid became easier to drink. Her stomach was snuggly warm now. “So, I continued to conspire and lent money to Captain Flint to hunt a huge prize.”

“What was the prize?” Rogers asked as he walked through the quarter.

“The _Urca de Lima,_ ” she whispered.

With his back to her, he froze mid-movement right next to his high table with the bottle of brandy. He grabbed a second tin cup. “I believe I may join you, in order to hear this.” He lifted the glass stopper from the glass bottle and poured. In a very  measured manner, he asked, “How did you even learn of its whereabouts?”

And so Eleanor told Rogers the story of the Spaniard named Vazquez as she had heard it from Flint. How the dying Vazquez had revealed the secret course he had plotted for the _Hulk_ to the English merchant captain Parris, that Flint learned of it and had hunted that captain to get his ledger. “When I learned of Flint’s goal simultaneously with the news of my father being a fugitive, I believed the gold of the Spanish treasury was our chance to ensure a defense – more guns for Fort Nassau, bigger fleet, a true independent state with its own treasury that could attract settlers and provide a life inland for those who wished it.”

Still with his back to her, Rogers drank deeply from his cup as he leaned on his bar. He turned. His eyes were cold and he flexed his mandible joints before he spoke. “It never occurred to you that stealing gold from an empire’s treasury might require a response? You who survived the Rosario Raid?”

Ashamed, Eleanor looked down at her hands wrapped around the cup of brandy. “It was a combination of mad hubris and desperation. I was so convinced of our strength if we got organized and yet so afraid about what I was about to lose - all the work, all that I had invested in it - that I clung to the plan like a lifesaving sloop.” _That was pretty much it_ , she realized. She had been frantically grasping for straws to avoid loss. But inevitably, she had lost all anyway.

Rogers set his cup down and went to stand at her side of her desk.  He put his hand on the back of her chair. “And so it truly began with the Urca gold.”

“Yes,” she whispered. “Once the word spread about the prize, it led to Captain Vane taking Fort Nassau from Captain Hornigold so that he could take the gold Flint might bring back. It led to a pirate war between Flint and Vane, with Flint shooting on Fort Nassau with a Man-O-War. And the brothel madam set up her own pirate crew with Jack Rackham and Anne Bonny to steal the Spanish gold that lay unprotected on a beach, after the Urca wrecked in a storm and the Spanish succumbed to a disease.”

“Wait,” said Rogers as he walked away to the other side of the desk. “I thought you said the brothel was run by a Mr. Noonan who was in your pocket.” He sat down.

Eleanor shook her head. “He’s dead, murdered. One of his girls, Max, believed she could strike out on her own - sell Flint’s lead on the gold to Charles. When Flint and I intervened, Vane’s crew took her captive and kept her as their personal toy in retaliation for making them lose money." She furrowed her brow. _Max had not lost their pearls. That had been Rackham_. "Mr. Noonan sought compensation, and paid for it with his life. Jack, Anne and Max took over the brothel, and worked against me ever after, selling leads to competing captains.”

Rogers gaped at her for a moment. He rolled his shoulders. “By God, did such things happen regularly?” For the first time perhaps, even this diminutive picture of Nassau’s cutthroat world made him realize what world Eleanor had to survive and grow up in. The casualness in which Eleanor mentioned it underscored it.

“Not regularly, no. But perhaps not out of the ordinary, at least when my father still ran the business in Nassau and Edward Teach commanded the pirate fleet. If anyone volunteered to become part of Teach’s crew, he had them fight each other, and the survivor could join him. But I tried to establish some order, some rule, some humanity. Hornigold protected the street and I funded better housing.” She bowed her head. “Unfortunately, I took my protective measure too far when I deposed Charles over it.”

“It provoked him.”

“Yes. After he took Fort Nassau, he forced me into accepting him as a partner in the new consortium of pirates-turned-merchant that I had installed. And yet, he refused to openly protect the street. And with my father’s name in shambles in Boston and Carolina we had a hard time selling the fenced goods for a good price.” Eleanor closed her eyes. “I acted as if I had all the power, when in fact I was losing more power with every new day.”

Rogers nodded.“So, you were basically running out of business and partners as they fought their wars between themselves.”

Eleanor nodded. “I did eventually figure that the Urca gold was poison and should never reach Nassau’s pirate shores. So, I set out to create a joint venture with the inland settlers, who farmed sugarcane but had no way to transport it, aimed to seek a reconciliation with England and denounce all piracy.” Eleanor downed the cup of brandy and set the cup on the desk. “But everything went to hell. Charles murdered my father. And I was taken by Captain Hornigold and surrendered to Captain Hume in exchange for ten pardons.”

For a very long moment, Rogers’ quarter was filled with silence. Even the clerk’s plume had stopped scratching away on the paper. Eleanor sagged her head and rubbed her forehead. She felt so tired all of a sudden. Her head pounded heavily.

“Leave us,” said Rogers to the clerk. “That will be all for today.” Slowly Rogers rose, walked to her side of his desk, leaned against it with his back and held his arms folded in front of him. In a soft voice, he said, “Why did you never tell the court any of the latter?”

“Because it would have been a lie.”

“A lie? Why?”

Rubbing her head, Eleanor whispered, “I did not turn my back on piracy because I thought it was wrong. I did it to keep my father’s legacy, out of self-interest.”

“Does the reason matter all that much?”

“I did an awful deed,” she murmured. Maybe she should not have drunk that last big swallow of brandy. It seemed to burn a hole in her stomach. She felt nauseous. “A deed so dark and foul that I did not wish to live anymore. I was no better than Charles Vane or Anne Bonny.”  Eleanor heard Rogers’ breathing, the waves lapping at the hulls outside, the creaking of the ship’s planks and the sailors hollering orders at one another on the deck outside.

“Go on.”

Eleanor looked up into his eyes, like a fearful little bird. If she told him, it would be the _Gloucestershire_ for her. _And it will be the Gloucestershire too, if you withhold_. She closed her eyes. It rolled off her tongue without her even wanting to say it. “I organized an assassination team to take out Captain Rackham and his crew, before they could set sail for the Urca wreck.” Eleanor’s heart beat in her throat. Trembling, she waited for the verdict, but there was only silence.

When she finally dared to open her eyes, she stared up in his thoughtful blue ones. “When was this?”

Her voice trembled. “The day I buried my father, the night I was taken.”

Rogers brought both his hands to his lips and seemed deep in thought for a while. When he finally met her eyes again, he said, “Do you still want them dead, even now?” Eleanor shook her head. “Where was your guardian in all this? This Mr. Scott?”

“Him and I fell out over the Urca gold. He joined Hornigold’s crew and later Flint’s crew. Flint wasn't even on the island.”

Rogers sighed. “Miss Guthrie, sometimes we can be so alone with the demons that haunt us that we lose perspective. You said earlier that you had scrambled in fear of loss. And it sounds to me that all your worst fears came true in that moment. You had no one, were orphaned in the most awful way, surrounded by enemies in truly deadly competition, abandoned by even those who were a voice of reason.”

Eleanor gaped at Rogers. “You’re not sending me back to London to be hanged over Wapping?” And then even more incredulous, she argued, “I just told you I'm a cold hearted killer.”

“No worse than any of the pirates I'm willing to pardon. No worse than the Spanish intelligence or the King of a nation for that matter.” The governor shook his head. “In fact, I am rather surprised that you managed to lord over Nassau for so long without resorting to such drastic measures far earlier. Nor does it seem you were all that successful – Rackham lives and managed to acquire the Urca gold. It lies in Fort Nassau as we speak. I do not condone the act, nor am I a priest who can give you absolution. But I do think you are too harsh on yourself.” Far gentler than she had ever expected anyone to speak to her after her confession, he said, “You described Flint as dangerous, but reasonable;  Rackham as devious, but only caring about his legacy. I would say that you are rash and impulsive, but care about Nassau. I don’t need to trust you, Miss Guthrie, but we do have mutual interests – civilization and commerce at Nassau.”

She looked into his concerned eyes and for the first time felt like he was truly looking at her as she was – not as a convict, not as a pirate, not as a woman, not as an informer, but as Eleanor. There was no prejudice in his gaze, no preconception of who he believed her to be. Eleanor was all amazement at seeing her own reflection in his eyes, as if she was looking into a mirror. In that moment, it felt like a huge weight that had been crushing her heart ever since her father’s death had been lifted.

That night, Eleanor dreamed herself floating in the cover of darkness on a launch on still water beneath a purple grey blanket of billowing rolling clouds. On shore smoldered the burned ruins of a town and blackened land around it. She could only see the back of the man that rowed her, but in his brown justaucorps and with his brown hair bound into a tail in his neck, he looked like her father. The only sound was that of the oars splashing into the dark water. When she looked across the rim of the launch, shadows lurked there. And at length, she realized they were floating corpses – a lake of the drowned. Filled with dread, she snapped her head to focus solely on her father’s back as he rowed.

A bit of clear night sky appeared above the horizon. A bright morning star winked at her as the first semblance of colors entered this world. But a reflection near the water’s surface caught her unwilling attention.  Eleanor’s eyes were drawn to the waxen image as the launch glided past. To her horror it was the pallid face of her dead father, mere inches below the water’s surface. Frantic, she reached over the rim, grabbed his vest, and pulled him up. But as she dragged the corpse out of the water, she held a young woman in a black mourning dress and leather riding coat in her arms instead. Her features were wan, pale and bluish, her lips grim and grey. _A warrior._ And then she recognized herself. She wanted to scream, but no sound escaped her constricted throat.

“Just, let go of her,” said the man, in a velvety, gentle voice. “What is dead already cannot die.”

Reluctantly, Eleanor released the coat’s lapels and her self-image sank into its watery grave of the deep blue under the wide and starry sky. Her fear receded. She folded her saffron, calico shawl around her, as a zephyr wind rippled across the lake. A yellow breasted eastern meadowlark landed on the rim of the boat.

Eleanor woke in the dark. _How strange that dream was._ And yet, despite the dread she had felt, she was now light-headed, muscles tingling. Eleanor got up, lit an oil lamp and scrambled around to find her clothes. She was getting better at lacing and dressing herself. Her door was never locked anymore, though she had respected her curfew hours the past fortnight. _What to do? Where to go?_ She felt eager to move, but unsure about going on deck during the dark hours. It would not be long though before the hour of dawn would be upon them. The sudden desire to see the sun rise decided for her. Eleanor grabbed her stockings, slipped her feet into the mules and rummaged in her chest for the saffron shawl.

As she crossed onto the deck, she pretended it was normal for her to appear during night hours. She lifted her green skirt and climbed up the quarterdeck where young Mr. Forris bowed over what appeared to Eleanor a spyglass on a tripod. But it was not like any other spyglass she had seen before. The tube had a diameter as wide as her hand and the eye-piece was mounted on the side of it. As Eleanor studied Mr. Forris go about his observations, she realized he was not watching for ships or land, but the night sky itself. The moonless sky appeared a black, velvet canvas, sprayed with a thousand dazzling diamonds. Only here or there, white veils of elongated clouds interrupted the view. A bright star shone above the eastern horizon.

Finally, when Mr. Forris made notes in a log, he became aware of her presence. “Miss Guthrie.”

“Please do not let me disturb you, Mr. Forris." She smiled apologetically. "I simply came out here to watch the sunrise.”

“It should be beautiful. The evaporation of the warm waters makes it redder. “ Then he pointed to the morning star. “And of course, we have Venus there heralding it.”

“I thought Venus was a planet.” Or at least Eleanor seemed to remember it being mentioned as such in a book about Galilei her father had possessed.

“It is. It just appears to us as a star with the naked eye.” Mr. Forris stepped away from the spyglass. “Have a look through my telescope.” Eleanor bowed to look into the eye-piece and saw a shimmering image of a thin crescent and a dark disk that seemed to reflect some type of ashy light, making it discernible against the background. “Venus reflects the sunlight like the moon,” said he. “It has phases, and looks like a crescent.”

 “She is beautiful,” said Eleanor in awe. Finally, she rose and smiled gratefully.

“Yes, both to the naked eye and at closer inspection,” said Mr. Forris with a sigh.

At last, Eleanor noticed that her shawl had fallen open and became self-conscious enough. Though she rarely stood on modesty, she quickly folded the shawl closed again. Spending her days with the Englishmen, their prudence started to rub off on her.

“Well,” said Mr. Forris as he grabbed the tripod. The eastern horizon showed its first splash of bright red and yellow against the darkness of the night. “I must make some calculations.” He laid the tripod against his shoulder and carefully went down the stairs.

Deep in thought, Eleanor reflected on the things she had learned, seen and experienced on this voyage – the warm water stream in the ocean, this telescope invention, seeing what Venus actually looked like, theories on the formation of personality. Mr. Forris was not the sole scientist Governor Rogers had taken along. Mr. Lardiner, a botanist, studied the kelp men fished up for him. The biologist Mr. Tortleby made careful drawings of the fish he dissected. There had never come a scientist to Nassau before to Eleanor’s recollection. Eleanor appreciated society’s finer arts and had sought to make Nassau a world that could have access to it. She had furnished her office with an amalgam of paintings, drawings and architectural models from some of the prizes. But in the past few weeks she had met men studying the world around them just for the satisfaction of studying it for the first time. This was civilization too, but despised by Teach and Charles. The bleakness and depravity of her previous existence hit her to the fullest, just as the sun peeped over the edge. The horizon brightened fiercely like a fire spreading. Looking at her past life, Eleanor recognized what horrors she had survived for the majority of her life. How rash she had been, struggling, warring not just to survive but to make something better of the violent world she had inherited. That young girl had longed deeply for a better life, for herself and others, but she had been lost in a world of people who did not value it at all.

“I’m sorry,” Eleanor whispered to the mental image of a girl with the fears and feelings of a thirteen year old in the body of a twenty year old. Her tears started to stream unbidden, silently and unhindered, while the sun had become a gigantic red disk in a pink and orange sky. Venus shone even more brightly above it.

A gust of wind ripped at her frock, her shawl, and her tears. Her eyes followed a tear wrung from her cheek as it flew across the stern into the golden foam forming on top of the waves. Fins appeared on the surface and ducked again, dozens of them. _A pod of dolphins_ , she thought, _chasing us_. Eleanor could not help but smile at them in delight. She felt hope for the first time, and actually looked forward to return to Nassau, because with her sailed civilization.

Unbeknownst to her, Rogers appeared on deck below to inquire with his men about the progress of their course. He turned around at the mentioning of Eleanor being on deck and was struck by her image bathing in the golden light of the dawn. Her saffron scarf around her shoulders had been ripped from her head. Her golden hair and her hairdo glistened like a bright diadem in the sunlight crouching onto the quarterdeck.  It was as if Aurore herself graced his quarterdeck. Compelled, he reached for the rail of the stairs and climbed them. He came to stand to her left. “Are you alright?” he asked in a low voice, leaning his head closer.

He had never stood so close. Eleanor wondered whether it had been her imagination or had his breath truly gusted across her neck and cheek. He smelled of soap, lime and cinnamon. She glanced at his profile and could only see the side of his face that had been left unscathed. He had a long, straight nose, a strong jaw and high cheekbones. The shadow of his stubble sculpted his profile and Eleanor was partly tempted to reach out and test its coarseness. Then her eyes trailed the hairs in his neck, pulled taught by the tail. She felt quite stirred, and alarmed. When she noticed the flicker of sideways movement of his eyes, she bit her lip to interrupt her smile and looked in front of her again. “I think I am now, yes.”

“Good.” Rogers pressed his lips together in what she had learned to regard as his approving smile.

The golden disk of the sun was well up now. The magical palette of the dawn was gone. So was the morning star. The dolphins dropped the chase one by one. The silence between them became almost unbearable for her. She wanted to say something, anything to still her sudden beating heart and the flutters in her belly, as well as give him a reason to remain. “The book!” she blurted.

“Beg pardon?”

Eleanor shook her head slightly in self-reprimand. “I meant, I’ve been reading the book you lent me.” Rogers raised his eyebrows and his eyes sparkled amused. “It is interesting. Very interesting,” she said. _You sound silly_ , she told herself. She blushed and lowered her head. “I mean challenging, and it makes compelling arguments.” She finally mustered the courage to meet his eyes for a longer time. “Although, I’d rather wish Locke were right than believe him to be right.”

Rogers frowned. “How so?”

“Well, Locke argues how much of our nature and personality comes from our years of formation and experience. He seems to be saying that under the right circumstances, experiences and inducements any man can reform.”

“And you disagree with this?”

Frustrated, Eleanor furrowed her brow and thought on how to express herself eloquently. “I mean that I have observed violent men behave no better than animals. How despite the enticement to better themselves, they fail or even strongly oppose it. Meanwhile, I have seen many a decent man, and women, be far more easily swayed to behave like animals with little to no incentive.”

“You are talking about vices and how easy it is to tempt people.”

“It takes an exceptional, rare man who can withstand and overcome what I regard to be instincts,” she said. “I understand you privateered during the War, captured Manila Galleons and sold them for profit.”

“I did.”

“Am I wrong to say that your purpose then and your experiences are not that much different of many pirates of Nassau?”

“Go on,” Rogers said in a darker, lower voice, avoiding to answer her question.

“You lost your gains to others who depend on you or invested in you. And yet _you_ chose a different path than what I have seen the majority of men choose. Many continue the practice for their own profit without commission. That is why England regards them as pirates. You, however returned home and now sail for Nassau to end piracy.”

Rogers shook his head. “What is your point, Miss Guthrie?”

Eleanor took a deep breath. “You are an exception, Mr. Rogers, not the rule. You had as many inducements to do as the pirates of Nassau. And despite of it, you chose your current path, rather than because of it. Am I then wrong to conclude that it may because of your nature, rather than your formation?”

“Why am I the subject of this conversation?”

“Because you recommended the book to me. And while your choices and your character may serve Locke’s hypothesis as an example, I wish to warn you that in most cases his hypothesis fails.”

Rogers flicked his eyes left, then right and raised his eyebrows. Then he chuckled. “I must say that this may be the strangest manner in which I have ever been complimented, all to argue against Locke.” He put his head sideways. “I think you may misunderstand his reformation point though. Nowhere does he say it is easy, nor does he stipulate the kind of inducement that may do the trick. And I find it requires great effort – yes, for me as well. The trappings to fall back on instincts without rational thought are always there. And well, tragedy may deform our psyche in our youth as well as reform us later in life. It either kills us, changes nothing, or changes everything.” He seemed suddenly distracted and lifted his old, busted watch out of his pocket. Eleanor looked behind her to see what had distracted him, and noticed Mrs. Hudson frowning at her from the lower deck. Rogers put the watch away again. “Would you care to join me for breakfast? Then we can continue our discussion.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> On timeline: I see the 3x01 Eleanor scenes in prison as preceding all the other scenes of 3x01, as a type of flashback-reveal in answer to Flint's crew and Vane discussing what may be coming to the island. Eleanor's first scenes at the start of 3x02 also precede everybody else's timeline of 3x01 imo, while the 3x02 scene of Hornigold joining Rogers' fleet in Bermuda is alligned with everyone else's timeline. About 6 weeks must have passed between Eleanor's first scenes of 3x02 and the one with Hornigold boarding the ship. 
> 
> update on timeline: Originally this fanfic was set in spring 1716. However, with the allusions of season 4, it has now become clear to me that all occurs in 1715 and that each "season" represents one of the four weather seasons, with S1 occuring in late spring, S2 early summer, S3 right smack during the fall season (and so Nassau falls) and S4 during winter, the end of 1715 (and the end of the piracy era). 4x03 even gives a date, making it Christmas 1715 by then. This means that S3 takes place between 21st of September until about 21st of October 1715. That Eleanor sails out for Nassau with Rogers on August 1 and she was shipped to London by Hume early June. I am editing details accordingly throughout chapters: no snow for chapter 1, no spring sun when she steps out of Newgate, summer raspberries.
> 
> Eleanor's dream: again about death, but here as a symbol of transition between old and new.
> 
> Morning-star/Venus/Dawn:  
> The Newton telescope was developed by Newton (1642-1727) in 1672. The Venus phases was one of the things he could see clearly with it. In 1691 (around Eleanor's birth year) Mathematician James Gregory published a paper regarding improved calculations to predict a Venus transit (passing before the sun as a dark disk/spot) and an improved paper in 1716. Galileo discovered the Venus' phases about 100 years earlier. The second half of the 17th century and first half of the 18th science made predictions on all sorts of planetary and comet sightings. Many exploration voyages, including James Cook's first voyage to Tahiti (1769 Venus transit), had astronomical observations as one of their goals. I wanted to incorporate the feel of the "exciting times" in contrast to the exciting golden age of piracy - after all Sir Isaac Newton is alive still in 1715. Don't really care whether Venus appeared as a morning star in August 1715.
> 
> Venus (Roman) = Aphrodite (Greek) = Freyja (Norse) and believed to be related to the PIE goddess of the dawn, Hausus (love and dawn, "shining one"). In Greek mythology love and dawn was split between Aphrodite (Venus) and Eos (Aurore), though the Aphrodite name ("shines from the foam") still refers to Hausus. Like Roses and myrtle berries, dolphins and sea-foam are Venus symbols. Venus was born a grown woman out of sea-foam. The love goddesses are often paired with a war god (Greek Ares) or in Freyja's case she is the goddess of love & war both. Saffron is the color of Aurore's robe/shawl and she is nicknamed the "rosy fingered". Aurore stole husbands from disappointing wives and her tears form the morning dew. The Sioux dawn spirit Anpao (yellow of the dawn) refers to the yellow chest of the meadowlark. Possibly the show-writers hinted at them too. Many dawn goddesses have a legend where they are abducted and imprisoned by a dragon-like creature and rescued by a hero. The saffron colored shawl draped across half of Eleanore's body in 3x01 only appears once she's released, and only for that scene, and is quite a prominent feature. Hannah New's nude posture as she looks over her shoulder (3x07) is a cinematic copy of the classic Venus Kallypogus statue ("Venus of the beautiful buttocks" literally). 
> 
> I feature Venus and Aurore both as Eleanor watches the sunrise, but split over POV. Eleanore focuses on Venus through the telescope and the Venus birth symbols. Rogers sees Aurore/Eos - the abducted, imprisoned one that he freed and attempts to save (physically, socially and metaphysically), hence the subject of the book he gave her is explored in a discussion between them.


	6. The Friend

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eleanor's freedom and mind on board expands and she tries to make herself useful to some of the people that are on the voyage, each with their own mission. Rogers' personal library becomes a source of an intellectual friendship, until the fleet arrives at Bermuda, where Rogers awaits an assistant of his to join their fleet and bring some long awaited news.

The fleet had turned south west, catching the trade winds that propelled them to Bermuda. Eleanor was a permanent guest at Woodes Rogers’ table, while the assembly of other guests varied between officers, scientists, captains or representatives of the settlers. She found the dinners with the scientists the most entertaining. Especially the elder Mr. Lardener enjoyed her addition. He was a rotund gentleman with a penchant for wine and his bag wig seemed always slightly in disarray. When Eleanor mentioned the fruits and flowers that grew on the island and what type of vegetables, native or imported, were farmed by settlers, Mr. Lardener would often claim all of her attention to describe it all, when and how they flowered. He invited her to his quarter by day to show her his preliminary sketches based on her words and ask her to suggest the necessary corrections. Mr. Tortleby wanted her to do the same for him with regards the native fauna of New Providence. Before long, her days were filled in assisting Mr. Lardener with his drawings, Mr. Tortleby by describing the lizards and birds that were so common to her, and penning down Mr. Forris’s measured angles of Venus or Mercury in comparison to the sun, sharing with her a closer sight of the moon’s face, or the planets he pointed out for her. 

Commodore Chamberlain though was hardly cordial. He did not greet her, never addressed her, not even to ask her to pass the peas. If the majority of the men at the table were officers of his then the atmosphere would be at an all time low. Not that they were unkind to her. No, they would dab their mouths embarrassed with their napkin or send a quick, apologetic smile her way, but dared not, could not go against the example that their superior set. One such late afternoon, the conversation had been so stifled except for Chamberlain dominating it that the governor at the head of the table looked displeased and fidgeted with his napkin. He grew angrier with every passing minute and every other snide remark. The commodore though seemed completely unaware of the alteration in Rogers’ mood. The dinner ended abruptly with everybody, including Eleanor, leaving the table in relief. But Rogers requested Chamberlain to remain as he wanted to discuss a matter of strategy and business. Afterwards, Chamberlain often sat at the table aboard other ships  and when he was part of the dinner on the _Delicia_ , the governor either made sure that the mix of people was diverse or have Eleanor seated near to converse with her.

Rogers had lent her other books. He owned a work on Aristotle, a translation of Homer’s _Odyssey_ , gathered plays by Shakespeare, Dryden's _All For Love_ and Marmion, as well as philosophical and religious works such as _The New Atlantis_ of Sir Francis Bacon, and more scientific minded journals of fellow explorers, including Dampier's. Eleanor always had the capacity to appreciate intellectual progress and challenges. She simply had never known anybody to introduce it to her, nor had the time to seek it out. But once the door to the exploration of the mind was opened, Eleanor discovered she had a profound appetite for it, as if she had been starving all of her life. She divulged whichever she could pick up, although admittedly Isaac Newton's book on the physical world was too much for her. Mr. Forris tried to explain the proofs to her, but it only gave her headaches and she simply asked him to explain to her in general terms what laws Newton was going on about. And she was content with the basic math she knew - adding, subtracting, dividing and multiplying.

Mrs. Hudson also turned out to be an avid reader, though their tastes differed greatly. They could barely agree on which of Shakespeare’s plays they liked. Mrs. Hudson was a fan of the dramas, like _Hamlet, Richard III_ or _Julius Caesar_ , which Eleanor found to be over indulgent pompous characters. Eleanor enjoyed the romantic comedies or the vengeful _Titus Andronicus, Macbeth_ and _Othello_. They could only agree that they both liked the _Tempest_. And if Mrs. Hudson read _The Pilgrim's Progress_ by Bunyan then Eleanor preferred Milton's _Paradise Lost_. Discussing the actual content would almost certainly provoke some comment on how Eleanor could read such gross literature, what with people serving someone's child for dinner. No, Eleanor could only truly discuss books with Rogers himself and a type of respectful, intellectual friendship developed over it in the course of weeks.

They reached Bermuda about five weeks after departing London and lay at anchor near sheltered St. George’s Town of St. George’s Island to replenish stock and fresh water. Eleanor was somewhat envious of Mr. Lardener and Mr. Tortleby who went inland to explore. Even Mrs. Hudson was often absent, on business for Rogers. Worse, Rogers was either entertaining an important family ashore or was otherwise engaged in overseeing the buying of stock. The latter could not be helped, but she thoroughly wished all those families inviting him to luncheons and dinners to come down with some flue, especially the daughters with their parasols who brazenly flirted with him, though he was a married man. Even from aboard the _Delicia_ in the bay she could discern how they cooed and flattered him whenever he strolled along the harbor quay. Meanwhile, Eleanor was basically marooned on the _Delicia_. She had all the freedom to roam the ship wherever and whenever she pleased, but was not allowed to leave it. For the first time since a long while, she felt like a prisoner again. And all she had to occupy herself with was the latest book she had lent from Rogers' library, to which he had given her free, unlimited access.

Finally, after four days, the cook informed her there was to be a dinner aboard the ship. Her frustration melted like snow in the sun. _Everything will go back as it should be, to normal_. Eleanor looked forward to discuss the passages she had found touching. Something of the narrative and ordeals that Psyche endured affected her on a deeper level. She identified strongly with the heroine, but had lacked any partner to exult about it. So, when she appeared on deck, freshly bathed and having taken great care of her attire and hair to welcome Rogers back, Eleanor’s joy evaporated as soon as she saw him help a Bermuda merchant and his daughter aboard the ship. The gushing praise of the girl to him as they climbed on to the quarterdeck grated her ears.

“Oh, I’m  so relieved that finally someone intends to deal with those awful pirates, Lord Governor Rogers. Seeing all those ships with you at the helm makes me believe the world will be a safer place again.” The young woman had long, dark brown flowing hair and eyes like a doe. When she turned and met Eleanor’s eyes gazing up at her from the mid deck, she said, “I know it will be a success, since you have at least captured one pirate.” She turned away from Eleanor and threw Rogers one of her smiles. “The Guthrie woman. I see you even succeeded into making her appear womanly. I think it is the most vile thing – a woman letting herself in with murderers and thieves, wearing men’s clothing.”

With Rogers nodding obligingly, indulging both the father and his daughter and in his most formal wear - the dark-blue justaucorps that matched his eyes so well - he appeared a completely different person to Eleanor. Not once had he acknowledged her appearance so far. But at the mentioning of her, he said, “Ah, I see she is on deck.” He leaned into the girl and said in a confiding tone. “Would you like to meet your first pirate, Miss Salinger?”

Right then, Eleanor had every intention of marching off the deck. _I am not some trained monkey to gape at._ But Rogers already called out to her, and she could not openly refuse an invitation onto the quarterdeck. So, instead she climbed the stairs gracefully and even curtsied, though her eyes were ablaze with anger. Rogers did not meet hers.

“Miss Salinger, may I introduce you to Miss Guthrie who has been very helpful to several scientists aboard my fleet. She is fascinated by the stars and planets and has shared a great wealth of information about the particular native fauna and flora of the Bahamas.” And with that introduction, Eleanor felt somewhat redeemed. “Miss Guthrie, meet Miss Salinger, daughter of Mr. Salinger who is Bermuda’s biggest ship merchant. She is very active in a parish committee with regards the health and safety of the inland wives, member of the church’s choir and was educated in London.”

Eleanor nodded to the father and the daughter. The father simply closed his eyes in recognition before turning away, while the daughter curtsied her with the utmost contempt. Eleanor feigned not to notice and smiled.  “Pleased to make your acquaintance, Miss Salinger. I have a friend who was educated in London as well.”

Rogers raised his eyebrows. “Well, aren’t you full of surprises. Miss Guthrie is also an avid reader. Soon, I will run out of books I can lend her from my small library. What are you reading currently?”

“Marmion’s _Cupid and Psyche_.” And as soon as she said it, Eleanor realized it had been a mistake. It was a rather piquant legend, about desire, forbidden love and the consummation of it. She only needed to see Rogers fold his face into that of disinterest to know he was sorry to have ever asked in the present company. _For fuck’s sake_ , _I found it in your library_. But then she realized that was likely the thing he did not want Miss Salinger to know.

Miss Salinger blushed deeply and her young voice trembled. “Oh, I don’t know whether I care so much for Marmion.” She turned towards Rogers. “Father has given me _The Tempest_ by Shakespeare. Did you know that the bard based it on the wreck of the _Sea Venture_ here?” And then she continued to prattle on how its crew and passengers built the first permanent settlement on Bermuda.

Rogers excused Eleanor from the quarterdeck, and she was not invited to dine along with the Salingers. _The Tempest_ , she thought angrily, as she kicked off her shoes when she was in her room. _I’ll bet that Mr. Salinger has no intention of giving his daughter Romeo and Juliet to read._

Miss Salinger reminded her of Abigail Ashe. They appeared off age, had similar physical features and delicate upbringing. But Eleanor decided she had liked Abigail far better than Miss Salinger. In her memory the girl had been full of innocence and sweetness. She had not even spoke ill of her captor Charles Vane. When Captain Hume told Eleanor how Charles Vane had burned Charlestown, Eleanor had been devestated.  _I saved Abigail for nothing_ , Eleanor thought at the time. _I betrayed Charles for nothing_. _I sent assassins to murder Rackham and his crew for nothing. My father died for nothing._

But that had been the old Eleanor talking. The present one whispered something entirely different - _You saved yourself when you saved Abigail_. Her mind wandered back to that fateful moment where she made the deliberate choice to leave Charles with his crew at the other side of the gate, and lead the innocent girl to safety. _I would do it again. I would lose it all over again to save her from certain death at Fort Nassau._ _Abigail lives, because of me_.

Eleanor walked to her trunk where Mrs. Hudson had stuffed her mourning dress. She opened it, lifted out the dress and searched for the hidden pocket. Out came an envelope. One of the corners was crooked. Eleanor went to her table, took out the letter and stroked the paper flat to get the crease out. She had received the letter while awaiting her trial at Newgate.

_Ashford, Savannah, Georgia_

DEAR MISS GUTHRIE,

You may have learned of my father’s and Charleston’s fate. What happened on that fateful day was a series of heinous crimes. But my father had the foresight to send me to Mr. Ashford in Savannah, and so I survived. And as I sit here, contemplating your predicament as well as my own grief, I believe we are bound to one another by that one act in the Fort when you saved my life. You went into Fort Nassau where I was held captive and stole me from my captor, Captain Vane, who wished to ransom me. And even as he came upon us during our escape and threatened you, asked you to hand me over, back to him, you still went ahead and guided me through the tunnels to your home. We both lost our fathers because of it, when Captain Vane took their lives in vengeance. When I learned of you having been taken to London, a prisoner, I felt this is my chance to repay your kindness and hopefully I will succeed where I failed James McGraw and Lady Hamilton, after they brought me home to Charleston, what you believed at the time back to safety. I will leave it to your discretion whether you use my testimony in this letter during your trial. I hope it does not arrive too late. God be with you.

I remain, dear miss, with gratitude, your well-wisher and friend,

                                                                                                                                             ABIGAIL ASHE.

Eleanor had chosen not to use the letter. She failed to understand what Abigail alluded to when she claimed to have failed Flint. But Abigail’s deliberate use of their names as they had been known in London now seemed to have been done on purpose. Mr. Ashford would not have known Abigail had meant Flint and Mrs. Barlow, while London knew the scandal about McGraw and Lady Hamilton. Eleanor tucked the letter safely away, back in the trunk. _It still might be of use._ Perhaps she could show it to Flint when the Governor arrived in Nassau, ask him what Abigail meant, as well as appeal to his humanity that seemed to be lost as she overheard the tales about some of Flint's latest crimes brought back aboard the ship from Bermuda.

Eleanor was determined to remain in her cabin all night. But when she heard noise of a launch being taken down, she could not resist the temptation. Rogers stared at the launch that returned the Salingers to St. George’s Town, until it was barely visible in the darkness of the night. When Rogers noticed Eleanor, he joined her soon with a smile. She eyed him wearily though.

Rogers smile faltered. “You are offended.”

“No,” she said. “But I trusted you enough not to parade me about to be abused by such a simpleton.”

He frowned. “You are in my service, Miss Guthrie,” he reprimanded her. “And if it is necessary I will flaunt you as the _Queen of Thieves_. The Salingers gave me a good price for the restocking for the last leg of our voyage and are an important contact for trade and guns when Nassau’s piracy is ended. If that means I must wine and dine them  and have a girl of seventeen simper over my fame, instead of discussing Marmion with you, then I will do exactly that. If that means I can satisfy their curiosity in how the Queen of Thieves became a lady, then you will do exactly that.” Stiffly, Eleanor pressed her lips together in stubborn remonstration. Rogers lifted his chin at her. “Can I count on you to perform this role when I require it?”

She bowed her head slowly. “Yes,” she whispered. “But you can’t expect me to like it,” she added testily.

He sighed and for the first time he appeared tired. “Let us not quarrel over this, Miss Guthrie. The past four days were taxing enough. I’m glad everything can return to normal soon and we can set sail again.”

Eleanor regretted her childish behavior instantly. She had lamented her lack of freedom, thinking of herself only, never considering that perhaps he found all the gushing and simpering strenuous. And then she was mollified, realizing the compliments and preferences hidden in his stern speech. Far more genuinely, she said, “I will do what you deem necessary without complaint.”

“Good,” he said gently. “We will set sail for Nassau the day after tomorrow, after someone in my service joins our fleet.” He nodded at her, turned and started to walk away.

“Sir?”

Rogers looked at her over his shoulder. “What, Miss Guthrie?”

She took a step closer. “I am sorry if I embarrassed you in front of Miss Salinger by mentioning Marmion’s book. I-I was not really thinking.”

He sighed. “You have a habit of acting or speaking before thinking. But I will tell you now what I told Miss Salinger earlier this evening – I have not yet read it myself. It was a parting gift of a good friend of mine, the evening before we set sail. Good night, Miss Guthrie.”

The next day was mostly occupied with launches going to and fro as well as the _Willing Mind_ being replenished with the last of the extra stock. Mrs. Hudson arrived back from town with dresses in pastel green cotton, dark red with embroidered roses and the finest woven blue silk that Eleanor had ever seen. A whole wardrobe had been commissioned and made for Eleanor at Bermuda. And when finally dinner time came around, everything did seem to have returned to normal. Mr. Lardener told her all about the plants he had picked and intended to dry, while Mr. Tortleby spoke about the several species of turtles he had studied. When Rogers reminded his guests that they would be leaving early the next day at the dawn of light, each left the table for a good’s night rest.

“Can you remain for a short while, Miss Guthrie,” he said, when she rose from her chair. He smiled politely and waited until the last person, Chamberlain, had left. “Miss Guthrie, sometimes people sabotage us, betray us and ill befalls us. And yet the experience teaches us something of great value that we might have been without if not for them, wouldn’t you agree?”

“I suppose.”

“Wouldn’t you say now that for example your capture at the time it happened saved you from a far darker path you had started to travel?”

She blushed with shame for an instant at the reminder of her intent to assassinate a crew. “Yes.”

“If you were able to choose between where you are now, because of your capture, and where you might have been otherwise, which one would you prefer?”

“Here.” That she preferred her present situation over the other, Eleanor did not need to doubt, even if she had reasons that were unknown to Rogers. A war against Charles and Max all by herself or experiencing the highest and purest forms of civilization, even within the limited confounds of a ship on an ocean, and in the company of a cultured man as attractive she found Rogers to be, honored by his intellectual friendship – there was no choice there.

Rogers smiled at her. “You may be curious why I ask these questions?”

In fact, Eleanor had become so used at their conversations going in all sorts of philosophical directions, where either of them would blurt out what had been fermenting in their mind regardless of the subject prior to it, that she had not given his purpose much thought at all. “Well, if you put it like that, I am intrigued by it now if I was not so before.”

“I desire your presence on the quarterdeck when my associate arrives. It is someone with whom you share some history. I simply wish for you to recall my philosophical point when you meet again.”

Eleanor frowned, mystified who it could be. _Perhaps it’s Captain Hume_. She disliked the man, but she held no grudge against him, no more than she did Chamberlain. “Should I fear this encounter?”

“By no means. Although I imagine your presence might disturb _him_ and he would dread a confrontation more than you would.”

“Who?”

“No, Miss Guthrie. You shall indulge me in this small and rare pleasure as a man in having a woman suffer from her greatest vice – burning with desire to know - and denying her the means to satisfy her curiosity. You will know soon enough.”

“You play a cruel game, sir.”

“Perhaps.” He got up and walked to his desk, picked up a wrapped package and laid it on the dinner table before her. “I also had someone buy this for you today. Perhaps you should start your own personal library, and regard this as my contribution to it.” Eleanor unwrapped the paper. In a lower voice, Rogers whispered. “If you hadn't read it yet. This one also starts with a shipwreck, but has the heroine dressed in male attire and she is absolutely charming.”

As the paper came off, Eleanor read the title – _The Twelfth Night_ by William Shakespeare.

Rogers gestured his arm toward the door, “Shall we?”

She followed him out onto the deck in company of Mrs. Hudson and rose the stairs of the quarterdeck, clutching the book tightly, neatly wrapped in its paper again. The full moon lit the harbor. The few clouds in the air against the stars were like those Eleanor was most familiar with – fluffy. And even at night the air was damp and warm, just the way she liked it. It reminded her how close she was to home, which prompted her to consider that she would also stand face to face with Charles, Max, Rackham and Flint soon. Except for Flint all three had wanted her gone or dead. She hoped she had not made a mistake by not giving the other names to Rogers as unpardonable. Eleanor was taken out of her reverie when she heard the dipping of coming oars.

Rogers stationed himself on the main deck to welcome whoever was arriving by launch, and Chamberlain joined him, leaving his position on the quarterdeck. Even though sound carried well by night on a ship, Eleanor could not overhear what the commodore was saying to Rogers. But she saw Rogers glance at him sideways in a manner that showed a great dislike. The bell rung and two men came aboard backboard. And she would have recognized that grey, old beard anywhere.

“Captain Hornigold! Welcome aboard.” Rogers left the commodore standing by himself and approached his new guests. “Mr. Dufresne.”

 _That old sly fox!_ Hornigold had not just given her up to Captain Hume for pardons and then slithered away, but he was in active service of Rogers. This was a meeting she had not envisioned at all. Eleanor knew she ought to feel resentful of Hornigold. She had never liked him much personally, and he was a hypocrite in her mind, berating her about not having the greater good in mind once, but only when it suited him. He could be as petty as the worst of them. And yet, she respected how he had managed to survive a great deal of circumstances. She was however, not intent on showing it. Hornigold would never even believe it if she were to tell him that she held no grudge against him.

“I have news to relay, sir," said Captain Hornigold to Rogers. "But first, I'm sorry, I must address a rumor I've heard since my arrival here, a rumor most troubling about a fugitive that you've made a part of your endeavor.” Hornigold leaned sideways to look about the ship and settled his gaze on Eleanor, while Rogers stepped aside and turned to look at her as well. She turned and gave Hornigold a full view on her. Hornigold’s expression faltered and he turned white as a sheet. “Jesus!” Hornigold said aghast, frowning at Rogers as if he were a madman.

Rogers faced Hornigold and lifted his chin. “I would introduce you, but, uh, from what I understand, you're quite familiar with one another.”

“Respectfully, that woman is not to be trusted.”

“I know, but perhaps I don't need to trust her. And, by way of context, I don't much trust you either. Let's assume you'll each be a check on the other, and I'll count myself fortunate. What news, Captain?”

Hornigold nodded slightly and then smiled somewhat pleased with himself. “I engaged Captain Flint as promised. When he and his crew declined my offer of pardons, I pressed my advantage and drove him, already battered, into a tempest. When it subsided, I patrolled the area extensively and recovered several pieces of fresh debris.”

“Debris? What kind of debris?” asked Rogers.

“The definitive kind,” said Hornigold. Mr. Dufresne next to him threw down Flint’s black flag onto the deck. “Captain Flint is dead.”

Incredulous, Eleanor stared at the flag for a long time. Flint was the most skilled captain out there and extremely dangerous. Hornigold was cunning, but she could hardly believe Hornigold had bested Flint. And yet, there lay Flint’s flag after he sailed in a ship-killer storm, in which the dark sky would have rained down on him like black pitch and the waves had risen so high they could have kissed the sky. She knew it to be good news for Rogers that Nassau’s major pirate naval strategist was no more. But her heart was saddened that Flint drowned in roaring wild waters, when he wanted to exchange thousands furlong of sea for an acre of dry land - him and his brave men dashed to pieces, perished. _Poor souls_. _And one of them Mr._ _Scott_ , she realized _._ _What made Flint seek such a death?_

 _What had Hornigold said? Something about pardons._ Eleanor wished Flint would have taken them, had in fact hoped that Flint may ally with Rogers. Later, when lying on her bed, she wondered whether her words at the start of the journey about Flint to Rogers may have influenced the governor. But how he could have relayed it to Hornigold was beyond her comprehension. It seemed just as likely that Rogers had given Hornigold the power to offer pardons at will. And she was sure that Rogers would never tell her the truth of it. He did not trust her with strategic information. His trust in her did not extend beyond books.

Eleanor turned and looked into the darkness to where she knew her table was, where she had put the book Rogers had given her - shipwrecks and tempests. _How apt._ But in both of Shakespeare's plays survivors washed ashore and lived. If real life was a play by Shakespeare, then surely Hornigold had been fooled, and Flint had dragged himself onto a beach and ended up marooned. She imagined him seated, his arms in a sad knot, his head down as the air dried his drenched clothes, and others scattered about looking for each other. Billy had fallen in the water after the _Walrus_ had attacked Bryson’s ship. But he beat and breasted the swollen surges, rode upon the waves' backs, trod water that was his enemy. Somehow he had kept his head above and his strong arms oared himself ashore, where Captain Hume found him. And that _poor sod_ Mr. Selkirk had survived for four years on an island all on his own. _There are so many islands between the Bahamas and the American coast._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The literary references of Eleanor's preference put revenge tales forward, contrasted by her meeting with Hornigold where she refrains from even fantasising about revenge on him. Overall, the book discussions and the book giving mirrors Flint-Barlow. Tempest, 12th Night and Cupid & Pyche are romance tales about 'islands', 'sea' with the third being darker in nature.
> 
> Tempest (red thread): Miss Sallinger mentions the historical link to the wreck that populated Bermuda. It is believed to have been Shakespeare's inspiration. The last two paragraphs allude to Tempest's Miranda grieving the wreck and the poor perished souls, Gonzalo's prayer for dry land instead of the sea and Ariel's description of lone Fernando on the beach of both scenes of act 1. Billy's swim description is the imagined survival description of Ferdinand, by courtiers of Alonso (Ferdinand's father thinkig his son drowned), act2, scene 1. 
> 
> The Twelfth Night: possibly might have been referenced by the show too - It takes 12 days to reach Nassau from Bermuda. In the next chapter I allude to the play in the address-writing scene and Eleanor making Hornigold the messenger of Rogers' address. 
> 
> Cupid and Psyche: Psyche binds the Aurore and Venus references. Venus was angry over people regarding Psyche as a human Venus and sent Cupid with his arrows to make her fall in love with a poor and ugly man. But Cupid fell in love himself. In order to prevent his mother of finding out, he has an oracle tell Psyhe's father she will be the doom of his kingdom, and she must be wed/sacrificed to a sea monster. Hence Psyche is "wed" to the sea-monster at her own "funeral" ceremony and left at the rim of a cliff. Cupid has the zephyr wind take her to his magical island, where he visits her at night. Eleanor was 'stolen' the night of her father's funeral, still wears the mourning dress in her prison cell and when boarding the ship. Just like Psyche she believes she is to die and that the funeral she went to ended up being her own. But she is rescued instead and sails to an island, where she enters an affair that can't see the light of day. S3 also reveals her father was willing to sacrifice her, to save his own life.


	7. The Messenger

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eleanor helps Rogers prepare his address and discovers Spain is a threat to the whole endeavor if Rogers cannot return the Urca gold. When the fleet approaches Nassau, it becomes clear the pirates have acquired an unexpected ally. Eleanor comes up with a plan.

The next day, Eleanor was relieved when she woke to find them sailing again. Looking forward to a normal day in the governor’s office, Eleanor chose the new pastel green dress. But when Mrs. Hudson appeared with a tray of breakfast, Eleanor opened her mouth to ask her why she was having breakfast here. Before she could ask, Mrs. Hudson explained. “Lord Governor Rogers is in a meeting at present with Captain Hornigold. I believe he will be busy most of the day. And he requests you to remain below deck for the time being.” Mrs. Hudson sat down, picked her sowing kit and set to work to retouch the red dress.

Chagrined, Eleanor picked at her fresh baked muffin. “I’m not that hungry,” she pouted. 

Mrs. Hudson lifted her eyes from the dress and stared coldly at Eleanor. “Did you believe that the governor would forget his station and situation as well as yours, only because you both like to read?”

“No,” she said, but in truth, _yes, somehow she had come to believe it_ _._

“He is a generous master, more than most,” said Mrs. Hudson while pulling the thread through, not looking up. “But he is also a rational and practical man. If anything, the past week should have reminded you of that.” Eleanor wanted to make a face, knowing that Mrs. Hudson was more right than wrong. “But he seems to favor you.” Mrs. Hudson’s eyes stared pointedly at the gifted book on her table. “Perhaps, you may advance far. Though he knows you but what, six weeks, he does not treat you as the stranger you are.”

Eleanor frowned at the last remark. She was not exactly sure about Mrs. Hudson’s meaning. The woman tended to speak in riddles. “Do you fear for my sake that he is inconstant in his favors?”

“No, quite the contrary. He is very constant, a faithful man.”

This time, Eleanor understood Mrs. Hudson’s words well enough - don’t get any ideas, girl, he’s still in love with his wife. Eleanor shook her head, grabbed the play and started to read, finishing her muffin in concentration, and mumbled loud enough for Mrs. Hudson to hear her. “Yes, a constant man, put to sea, never to return if his voyage is a success.”

It was passed noon when she was called upon to present herself in Rogers’ office in the company of Mrs. Hudson.

“Come in.” Rogers rummaged through his papers spread across his desk.  Used glasses and cups still stood about, needing to be cleared. There was no clerk, so this was not about any questions he had regarding her story when she ruled over Nassau. To Mrs. Hudson he said, “Would you be so kind to call for someone to clear the mess and then you can wait outside.” Rogers returned to the desk, delved into another pile of papers and then lifted one from underneath as if it was some treasure and mumbled, “There it is.” Eleanor approached the table, laying her arm on the back of a chair and watched him with some wonder. The servant entered, but distracted Rogers shooed him away again. “Oh, yes, well, not now, come back later.” When the door closed, Rogers finally stood straight. “I just concluded a meeting with Commodore Chamberlain and his staff. A date has been set for our arrival in Nassau, roughly two weeks from today. And when that happens, decisions are going to be made in a matter of hours that will determine the future of the island for decades to come. And almost all of it is going to depend on that.” He held out the paper to her.

Eleanor took it and read it. “What is this?”

“The address I intend to make to the inhabitants of Nassau in which I invite them all to accept the King’s Pardon and to join my efforts to restore law, order and commerce to New Providence island.”

Eleanor read the drawn up address more closely as she walked towards the grand window of the stern. She had known of his intentions to pardon the pirates, but she always believed he would do so after the battle to conquer the bay of Nassau. The address was neither an overture of war, nor taxation of homage, but an olive branch. “So, you’re just going to sail into the harbor, throw yourself onto the beach and read this?”

“Captain Hornigold believes that without Captain Flint there is no one left on that island capable of mounting an organized defense at the bay.” He lowered his voice. “Do you disagree?”

She turned around. “An organized defense,” Eleanor said with a smile. “Captain Flint was the only true strategist among them.” She leaned against the stern's window. “But that doesn’t mean the others will organize a disorganized one.”

“Oh, I’m not concerned about the odd skirmish,” Rogers defended himself. He walked to his bar where he kept his wine and brandy. “All that matters is whether _that_ works.” He gestured to the address in her hands and then poured himself a cup of wine. “Commodore Chamberlain is resolved that either the pirates take the pardon immediately or Nassau will be considered hostile territory.” With the tin cup in his hands, he returned to the desk around the side. “We then mount of a full scale invasion of the beach, costing me any chance I might have of a peaceful transition.”

Eleanor sought one of the meeting chairs and sat down. “And you need my help to ensure that this address is drawn to win the most converts?”

“Precisely.”

She reached for a plume, dipped it in ink and perused its content. “How sure are you that it would be a bad thing?”

“What’s that?”

“If the navy took over, stormed the beach and cleared it, why would that be such a bad thing?” Before she listened for an answer she frowned at an expression in his address. “I wouldn’t say _law and order_ here. Either is fine. The phrase they find upsetting.”

Rogers sighed and sat down, setting the tin cup before him on the table. “If the Navy takes the beach, there is no way I will recapture the trust of the men who would otherwise have surrendered.”

Eleanor chuckled. “You wouldn't need their trust if they were either dead or terrified of you. Seems the Navy is offering to see to one or the other.” Eleanor was actually surprised that she was making these rational arguments and that Commodore Chamberlain was not present to ask them along with her.

“It could take months to pacify the island by force. It would be preferable to me to spend those months building commerce instead of putting out fires.” Rogers lifted his cup and drank.

“Yes, but if the Navy were to remove anybody who was setting those fires, again, would that not be preferable?”

“How exactly did you become the one asking questions here?” Rogers demanded, irritated at her being fortified against any denial. Frowning, she looked up startled. Clearly she hit a nerve there. He looked cross. “And anyone who thinks it's so easy to win a war by force has never actually been responsible for fighting one.”

Eleanor pondered the mystery why he so desperately wanted to do this address before anything else. He had no issue to send her back to London on the _Gloucestershire_ to her death just a month ago. He had pretty much shrugged at the news of Flint's death. He had fought and captured Spanish galleons. Even if Rogers believed that man could better themselves if given the chance, and it was preferable to killing them, surely he had another motive than commerce or pretending to be the hero. _Mrs. Hudson is right that most of all he is a practical and rational man who does what he believes necessary_ _._ “You're not saying that you can't win. You're saying it would take too long to win it.” She pondered the puzzle, shaking her head. “With all these resources, you could outlast them. _Clearly_ you could outlast them!” she said more to herself than to him. Eleanor settled her gaze on him. “So why are you so concerned about the time?”

He stared at her for a moment, his features serious, deliberating. It seemed he had made a decision when he looked down, shy like a boy who was caught at stealing cookies from the jar. Rogers rolled his head, stretched his jaw and raised his eyebrows expressively. “There were a number of parties,” he sighed. “to whom I had to make promises in exchange for their support of this operation, schedules that had to be met. And with many of these parties, Whitehall, my equity investors, my creditors, the lapse of a deadline or two might be bargained away. But there is one particular party whose patience I do not wish to test, a party whose history with the pirates of Nassau suggests an extreme reaction would likely follow.”

When it was pointed out, Eleanor understood immediately. “Spain,” she said softly. The governor lowered his eyes in acknowledgement and pressed his lips together regretfully. Anxious and alarmed, she asked, “What did you have to promise them?”

“That I would seize Fort Nassau, secure the remains of the Urca de Lima's gold stored within it, and return it to Havana. Promptly. Failure to do so would confirm for them that I am simply a pirate by another name, not to be trusted, and would result in a launch of a fleet of ten ships and soldiers numbering 1,500 to raze Nassau to the ground.”

 _Her_ father had warned her from the very beginning that acquiring the Urca Gold was incompatible with saving Nassau. And yet, she had funded Flint in hunting it. _And I told him. No wonder, he is reluctant to reveal it to me._ “How long did they give you?”

“Eight weeks.”

“Eight? Jesus!” The memory of the Rosario Raid flashed before her eyes. The women and men screaming. The fire. The corpse of her mother, her blonde hair matted with blood.

“As long as the fort is taken quickly and in its entirety, everything should be fine,” Rogers insisted, though it sounded as if he was trying to convince himself of it, rather than her.

Eleanor certainly was not convinced. She shook her head and breathed out in exasperation. So much could go wrong in her own experience. It was an island full of pirates after all, men and women who rather deprived another of having something when they could not have it either. _Oh, why did I not listen to father or Mr. Scott from the start?_ Her actions and choices had put Rogers and Nassau in this mess. The first unwittingly, the latter knowing full well that the Spanish might retaliate. And here she had been arguing against his plan as if he were some good-hearted fool or worse a coward. The very least she could do is make it the best address that might actually work.

She set to work in earnest, rephrasing where necessary. “Perhaps you should simply scrap _law and order_ altogether. Instead you can reverse it by mentioning disorder and chaos as the reason why Charles Vane is the sole pirate who does not get pardoned.” She struck out the paragraph in question and rewrote her suggestion above it.

“How do you mean?” Rogers got up and came to stand behind her, looking over her shoulder.

“Like this. You see?” She lifted the paper up for him.

Rogers murmured as he read, “No matter what you've done, no matter how irredeemable you believe it to be, your king and your governor wish to offer you a clean slate, a new beginning here in Nassau. All of you, that is, but one. One so committed to disorder and chaos that his presence is incompatible with civilized society.” He pursed his lips. “Yes, that could work.” He took another swallow from his wine. “Not bad.”

“And then you can simply state the rules, before it, without actually calling it _law and order_.”  Eleanor bent over the address, scratched another line and wrote her suggestion instead. Aloud, she read, “Be it proclaimed that any man on this island who will renounce violence against the crown, who will renounce piracy, that man will be offered a full, complete, and unqualified pardon.”

Still looking over her shoulder, his head to the side, Rogers pointed his finger at the passage she had altered. “Add ‘who accepts that embrace’ right before the renouncing – that any man on this island who accepts that embrace, comma, who will renounce – and so on, and so on.” He downed his drink. “Now write it out on a new paper.”

When she was done, he extended his hand to read the well penned version of it and walked away. Aloud he said, “The time has come for the parent empire to reclaim its lost child that must long for the embrace of civilization once again -”

Eleanor shook her head. “No, that sounds all wrong.” In consternation, Rogers raised his eyebrows, while she furrowed her brow and repeated the line in her head several times. “You ought to paint yourself as a savior and Nassau as the naughty child.” She rose, walked over to him, snatched the paper out of his hands, bent across the desk, reached for the plume, scratched out the line and wrote another suggestion instead. Then she read aloud, “The time has come to bring a wayward child back into the fold, an island that rejected its parent empire, but that must long for the embrace of civilization once again.”

Rogers burst out in laughter. He rarely ever laughed freely. Most often it was more of a chuckle. She was both surprised as well as taken aback by it. With her confusion written all over her face, he kept his laughter in check. “It's good! Very good!” he reassured her, waving his hand. “You’re really shrewd with words, especially when you give it all your effort. Perhaps I should let you write all of my speeches.”

“Thank you, you’re too kind.”

“Not really no.” Then he walked to her left side once more. “Let me see.” She handed him the paper. And when he inadvertently brushed the sleeve of his light olive justaucorps against her arm, Eleanor felt a short jolt course through her body. “Well, it looks like the only thing left from the original write-up is the final proclamation of a bounty for the capture of Vane, dead or alive.” He stepped away, and so did she.

Eleanor turned and stared through the window, catching her breadth. She adjusted her petticoat and stomacher, attempting to regain her composure from the accidental brush. She knew he was quite innocent of any inappropriate behavior towards her, and most likely even completely unaware of the effect he had on her.

“I think I have been indoors for too long,” he said as he laid the address carefully down on his desk. “Shall we go on deck? It will give my servant some time to tidy up my quarter.”

“Yes,” she said eagerly. Eleanor turned, her eyes lowered as she dared not to look at him in that moment.

What had begun as a mere attraction and pleasurable fascination in the many weeks before that innocent brush was sparked into a slow burning flame of desire and yearning as if Cupid himself had nicked her with his arrow. In the days after, she made sure to hide her admiration behind a demure exterior. Meanwhile her belief that he seemed oblivious to it, gave her this false security that she could attend to him more than before without any danger to him or even herself. When he spoke, she listened. When he smiled, she brightened. It did not matter whether those words were spoken to the Commodore, or that he smiled at a smart comment of one of the officers. It was most unconsciously done though. When she went on deck, she told herself it was because she wanted to feel the sun on her face, marvel at the azure hue of the Caribbean and look out across the horizon for that first glimpse of Nassau. But gradually, day by day, he shone more brightly than the sun. It was his light she basked in. It were his sparkling, blue eyes she wanted to swim in. Each day added a new word to her vocabulary on how to describe him: virtuous, of noble character, stainless youth, liberal, educated, valiant, gracious in form and appearances, and soft and well spoken with a timbre that made her heart tremble.

Rogers certainly noted she had become very compliant and helpful. Sometimes, he only found himself thinking, _I should check this with her_ , when Chamberlain or Hornigold tried to convince him of something about Nassau, its bay or the fort, and he would find her right by his side that very instant. At least he was grateful that she made his job easier. Chamberlain posed challenge enough at times. And it was a relief that she required no explanation anymore when he wanted her to remain below, or that she stopped pouting like a child when he had little time for her as she had done in Bermuda. What might have affected this change in her, he could only guess. Perhaps she had truly comprehended his meaning at Bermuda when he berated her. Maybe it was the weather, the subtropical air and the nearness of her home. Or conceivably she competed with Hornigold who was most eager to prove he was a true Englishman.

So, when Eleanor stood on the quarterdeck with Mrs. Hudson on the 21st of September, looking to the horizon with apprehension to catch the island’s first glimpse, just cresting on the horizon, and the lookout in the crow’s nest shouted, “Sails on the horizon!”, it was hardly surprising that Eleanor left Mrs. Hudson’s side instinctively and strolled towards the Commodore and Rogers at the rail of the starboard side of the quarterdeck without being invited to. Chamberlain watched through his spyglass with Rogers looking gravely at the horizon. Meanwhile, Eleanor was completely oblivious to Mrs. Hudson’s bewildered look and attempt to tell her to wait for Rogers to call for her.

“It would appear, sir, that your information is less than complete,” said Chamberlain, gesturing his head at her in contempt. “Perhaps you should ask _this_ one who it is.”

Rogers flicked his eyes for a moment at Chamberlain’s last comment. “There are masts at the mouth of the harbor.” Eleanor took the spyglass and peered through it. “Appear to be in a firing line,” said Rogers. Eleanor adjusted the spyglass to see better. “Do you recognize any of their banners?,” he asked. She lowered the glass slowly with dread. “Who is it?”

 _How is it possible?_ She dropped her gaze and felt her stomach sink into a pit. “It's Edward Teach, sir.”

“Teach! Are you sure?”

“Skeleton holding a cup and piercing a heart. It’s Teach’s banner.”

Rogers shrugged his shoulders and flexed his jaw. And before long, the name and his moniker was whispered amongst officers, soldiers and sailors. Dejected, Eleanor surrendered the spyglass  to Chamberlain. _It might be all over, even before it actually began._

Rogers straightened his back and set his jaw decisively. “How soon will we be upon them, Commodore?”

“Three hours, give or take.”

Rogers took the spyglass from Chamberlain. Eleanor knew what he saw - a Man O War, four square riggers, two sloops, ... “Eight, maybe nine ships,” he said, “including the Man O War.” She took a step back, as if in some nightmare. “Get every captain, officer, quartermaster, anyone with a brain on this ship,” Rogers ordered to the commodore, never taking his eyes from her. “That includes Captain Hornigold, Commodore. He sailed with Teach once.”

Meanwhile, Eleanor’s mind raced over the possibilities. _Why the fuck did Teach return to Nassau after eight fucking years?_ Teach preferred to lord over a strong crew, without any interference of merchants or the street. There were too many rivals in Nassau, even with Flint dead. The street had gained too much power, even without her, to let themselves be pushed aside by a man like Teach. And even if Teach had not known it when he arrived in Nassau, he would have realized it by now. Eleanor was sure that Teach would rather command a pirate fleet exclusively bound to him anywhere else but Nassau. _Why does he defend a place he despises,  crews he considers weak? Why had Teach not simply seized the Man O War, get the strongest crew and sail off with it?_

Rogers gestured Eleanor to walk with him. “Teach has not been sighted near the Bahamas even these past months. You seem surprised he is here at all.”

“I am,” she said instantly. “He doesn’t care about Nassau at all. He never did. Not the town, not the people, not even most of the pirates. He knows no commitment, other than what others owe him.”

“So, why do you think he is here then?”

Eleanor shook her head in consternation. “I can’t comprehend it. There is no way he would risk his life or his precious pirate freedom for Nassau over hanging around some remote beach.” She leaned on the rail and stared at the glimpse of Nassau. “The sole reason I can think of is that he is a fanatic about piracy and hates the English. Maybe he just sees this as an opportunity to smash an English fleet.”

“Well, whatever his reasons were, he is here now,” Rogers smiled at her in his way where he pressed his lips together. “And seems to have mounted a defense. As we get closer and gain more intelligence, it will become clear what needs to be done.”

Three hours later, they lay out of gunshot range near the bay of Nassau.  Rogers’ quarter was crowded by Naval officers, majors and generals of the Regulars, Hornigold and his quartermaster, as well as Eleanor and Mrs. Hudson. The officers, the commodore and Rogers surveyed the map of the bay of Nassau with mock-up ships in the line of battle formation.

“That formation ensures that any approach in the harbor mouth will result in significant damage to our fleet,” said Chamberlain more to everybody else in the room than Rogers. “Apparently, Captain Teach is every bit the tactician they say he is.”

Rogers leaned against the post of his window, his back to Chamberlain. “What are you suggesting? That we withdraw?”

“I'm suggesting that I see no obvious means by which we can reclaim Nassau town, not without risking the loss of significant assets of his majesty's Navy.”

Rogers nodded, but his jaw was set in determination. He circled round and faced Chamberlain. “Then I'll go to the beach myself.”

Eleanor held her breath. Chamberlain’s jaw dropped. “Beg pardon?”

“I will have a launch ferry me to the sand alone, and I will make the pardon address.”

 _Reckless and heroic, but foolish nonetheless_ , she thought. _Isn’t there anyone here who will stop him?_

Chamberlain positioned himself opposite of Rogers. “It is out of the question.” In that moment, Eleanor felt like kissing Chamberlain. They both wanted Rogers to be safe.

“Why?” Rogers challenged the Commodore.

“Because my charge is to ensure this endeavor's safety and yours and I'll not answer to a plan that reckless.”

As both men argued in direct opposition of each other, a far deeper rift between them became clear to her. The commodore challenged Rogers’ authority, and had done so before in little things. Eleanor did not like that. An idea came to her. “It shouldn't be you,” she piped up from behind the officers that had formed a wall of royal navy coats between her and Rogers. _Be clamorous, and leap all civil bounds_ , she reminded herself. Eleanor stepped forward, past the men. “If you send someone else to read the pardon address, someone known to the men on that beach, it might work.”

Chamberlain rolled his eyes and turned away from her. “Someone have her removed. I don't have time for this -”

“Hold! Hold on,” Rogers interrupted Chamberlain. He turned to her. “What are you suggesting? That _you_ go to read the address?”

And in the way he said it, Eleanor realized that if she said yes, he would actually contemplate the notion. “No, it can't be me either,” she answered, lowering her eyes. “I have too many enemies between here and that beach.”

“Then who?”

“Him,” she indicated Hornigold, who narrowed his eyes at her. “Half the men in that bay have sailed under him at one point or another. They respect him as much if not more than any other man that's sailed under the black. They'd grant him passage under a flag of truce, and they'd listen to what he had to say.” She lifted her chin towards the stiff Chamberlain and said saucily, “And you don't give a _shit_ if he dies in the process.”

Rogers glanced at Hornigold and then at her in contemplation. He touted his lips, sighed, stood erect and turned towards Hornigold. “What do you say, Captain Hornigold?”

Eleanor supposed that there was a slight difference between being named as the man who might save the day and actually being such a person. Hornigold looked less proud after the praise she piled on him, and almost sickly green instead at the thought of risking his life to paddle through the formation line of Teach’s fleet. After all, Hornigold had turned on his own ward, Teach, for control of the fort. Half of the men on that beach might have fought under Hornigold’s black flag one time or another, but the other half had not. It required only one fool amongst the latter to take a shot at him. But even if such a fool killed Hornigold, the pirates on the beach would slaughter each other and thereby make it far easier for the Navy to mop up the rest of them.

Captain Hornigold seemed to realize the same thing – if he went, he would win the beach and Nassau town for Rogers, whether by sacrificing his life or making the address. Hornigold licked his lips, sighed and nodded. In a room full of officers and advisors who all had heard Eleanor’s suggestion, he could do little else, unless he wished to be branded a coward who forced the Navy in sacrificing their lives to storm a beach.

“Good,” said Rogers. “Have the launch made ready.” He handed the address to the baffled Hornigold. And as everybody else filed out of his quarter, including Eleanor, she noticed Rogers still watching her with contemplation when she glanced behind her. 

Hornigold fell in step beside her. “I do not know what your intent actually is – whether you hope to give me my day in the books of Nassau’s history or wish to see me die in the process . Whichever is the case, I will see it done.”

“You taught me a lesson once, Captain - how personal sacrifices need to be made for the greater good. I learned it. And for Lord Governor Rogers to take Nassau and put an end to piracy I think it is fair to say that we all shall have to make personal sacrifices.” Hornigold squinted at her and then shook his head in disgust. He stepped resolutely towards the launch. “I wish you every success in wooing the pirates, Captain Hornigold,” Eleanor whispered.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Twelfth Night - The conversation between Mrs. Hudson and Eleanor adapts a conversation between Viola, in male disguise, and Orsino's servant on how quickly she gained the duke's favor and whether he is fickle or constant in feeling. Here, Mrs. Hudson warns Eleanor that Rogers is married and has never strayed. Later in the play the fool remarks to melancholic Orsino that changeable men should be put to sea, where everything is their business and everywhere their intent, so that their voyage is always successful. Eleanor quotes it to Mrs. Hudson to question Rogers' constancy if he plans to govern Nassau while leaving his wife and children behind. Eleanor describes Roers to herself as Olivia describes Orsino to Viola. The description of the nature of the address is how Viola describes the nature of her speech for Olivia as Orsino's messenger (no war, no taxes, but an olive). Eleanor quotes Orsino in thought as a directive when she swears to Chamberlain - "Be clamorous, and leap all civil bounds".
> 
> Eleanor falls in love with Rogers, while serving him, like Viola falls in love in Duke Orsino's service. She gets to know him better, and he discloses his heart 'like a book' to her. Viola is a lady who dresses as a man to disguise her identity. Eleanor in the English corset cannot fully be herself either (a reverse parallel). Eleanor succeeds only in helping Rogers when she steps out of her expected female gender role - she speaks up at a military council and gives military advice, and swears like a man. 
> 
> the 'address' connection: Duke Orsino has Cessario (Viola) do his speeches to woo Olivia for him. Viola is actually the author of the address to Olivia. Orsino expresses himself about Olivia in flattering terms, but Viola ends up chasticing Olivia. While Orsino considers Viola the "best man" for the wooing job, Viola thinks she's the least equipped candidate for it. Like Viola, Eleanor constructs and alters Rogers' address to woo Nassau so much that she is the author and turns it into a chasticement. Rogers expresses the thought she should write all of his speeches. He also almost wants to send her to the beach, but she forces Hornigold into the position. In the end, another man speaks for Rogers and has the island surrender to him.


	8. The Hired

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Now that the surrender of Nassau is near, Eleanor wonders what her purpose on the island will be. What is left of her father's business for her to pick up again. Rogers provides an alternative and answer to that question, and the offer is very tempting. Eleanor realizes she might not be the sole one who harbors budding feelings. Recognizing that the offered position might give cause to her enemies to sabotage Rogers she is willing to make a sacrifice.

When Hornigold’s launch glided across the water towards the pirate fleet, under a flag of truce, one could hear a pin drop on the ship, perhaps in the whole of the bay. From under her eyelashes, Eleanor watched Rogers’s back as he stood at the starboard rail, gazing through the spyglass. She had faith that Teach would not be so stupid to allow anyone to touch even a hair of Hornigold’s beard, that when Hornigold read the address half of the pirates would embrace the pardon, while the other half would lose the will to fight. She had no need to see history enfold on the beach. She wanted to see it happen on his face. _He’s my hero too_ , she realized.

Rogers’ corners of his mouth lifted less than half an inch. Eleanor needed no more to know that Hornigold’s address was met with success. There was a cheer amongst the crews, and Rogers put down the spyglass. He stared to the beach in the far distance and basked in what Eleanor thought of as _fate_. He started to turn and instinctively Eleanor flicked her eyes sideways, away from him, and pretended to stare at the beach. This victory was his, and she felt like a thief by having only eyes for him when fate reached out to him.

The quarterdeck cleared and the Commodore and officers followed Rogers to discuss further military strategy. Eleanor moved to the starboard rail and let it sink in that the main feat was done, without any bloodshed. The beach was the governor’s now, and Teach was caught between hammer and anvil. But that did not mean all was won yet. _You should have sailed away and lounge at Ocracoke when you had the chance_ , Eleanor said in thought to Teach.  

Mrs. Hudson interrupted her thoughts. “What’s it like to see your home, when you believed you never would again?”

“Hard to describe.” It still looked much the same as she had left it. Colorful, a bit of a ramshackle and a white beach littered with tents near the sparkling blue bay. It was nowhere as tidy and pretty as St. George’s Town of Bermuda was – less colonial, less civilized. And yet, it looked like home with a personality of its own. 

“What temptations lie out there for you, you think?”

Looking at Nassau, she wondered for the first time what she intended to do. She had been so focused on the conquest of Nassau, that she had little time to ponder life after that. When she first sailed out of London, she had this abstract picture of retaking her father’s business, but this time remaining a legitimate merchant. She ought to do it. It was after all her father’s legacy. _I owe it to him_. But her heart was just not in it anymore. _I could just be a tavern owner, and use part of the profits into further development_.“I don’t know.”

Mrs. Hudson watched her skeptically and did not suppress her smile. “Were you not the owner of a thriving business, always seeking to make it bigger and partnered with pirates to hunt the Spanish gold?”

The mention of the Urca’s gold startled Eleanor. She had never talked about it to the woman and neither was her personal involvement common knowledge. But maybe Mrs. Hudson was simply guessing based on the knowledge that Eleanor was the head of her consortium in Nassau when the _Urca de Lima_ wrecked. She sighed. “I simply want to see Nassau thrive and the governor succeed.”

While, Hornigold had secured the beach, Teach did not budge and Charles and Rackham still manned the guns of the fortress. No further approach could be made that day, except launch soldiers to a nearby beach and join Hornigold’s private militia. The following morning Mr. Eames came to her cabin to inform her that Rogers required her in his office. She walked through the corridor, crossing paths with Rogers’ council as they filed out of his quarter. Eleanor stilled her heart and thoughts, closed the doors as she was now used to do, turned and held her hands in front of her while she waited.

Rogers surveyed the papers he held in his hands as he slowly walked through his office. “When I assembled my staff of advisors for this enterprise, I spared no expense. Some of the most promising sons of the most prominent families in London.” He looked at her for a moment. “Brilliant minds.” His eyes drifted back to the pages in his hands. “Full of ambition. In this moment, I think it fair to say I wouldn't trade you for any ten of them.”

Eleanor furrowed her brow. Rogers would not just have called her into his quarter for a compliment alone. “You're very kind,” she said as she approached him.

Rogers shifted his body and glanced at her. “No,” he said slowly and very decidedly in self-reflection.  He met her eyes, with a self-deprecating smile. “I'm very accountable. By daybreak tomorrow, I'm told more than half of the pirates will have accepted the King's pardon and we will be ready to move my flag onto the island.” Rogers strolled to his desk, dropped the papers onto it, went to stand behind his chair and rested his hand on the back of it. “In the thirty days that follow, I will need to accomplish ninety days worth of progress just to keep schedule. I will need someone by my side at all times to aid in seeing it done. A senior counselor serving without portfolio.” He went back around the desk and stood before her. “At the moment, I believe you represent the best candidate for it.”

Her heart felt like bursting. _At his side at all times_. A giggle burst forth that Eleanor had a hard time to suppress. “Because I suggested sending Hornigold to the beach?” She beamed.

Rogers smiled warmly back at her. “Because you're smart.” His words felt like a caress. Then he paused, looked away and forced his tone to be more neutral. “…without needing anyone to explain to you how to be. And because you're not afraid of being thought to be wrong when you know that you're right.”

Though Eleanor did not believe Rogers meant to be any more than amiable, her instincts knew that something significant had occurred, was occurring – that not just she but Rogers as well betrayed far more feeling than either wanted the other to know. Her blue eyes dilated and she felt drawn to him instantaneously. “Won't the promising sons resent my presence in such a senior capacity?” Eleanor expressed reserve, but inadvertently, she took a few steps closer towards him. She wanted to be near him.  

Rogers took a deep breath. “I'm fairly certain I don't care. Do you?”

She stood close enough to have to look up to him. Her heart beat at the implied subtext. “No,” she said softly.

“Good,” he said lightly. “Then you're hired. Let us begin.” He sat down at his desk, while Eleanor leaned on the back of the opposite chair, studying him with a smile she simply could not mask anymore.

 _He’s attracted to me_. She was suddenly certain of it. Something had shifted, more than just trust. It had not been so much what he had said, but how he had spoken. _No_ , she corrected herself. _How he made such an effort to sound distant, business like, despite himself._ He had spoken to her warmly, with sympathy or concern before. He had paid her compliments before. But he had never tried to correct his tone as if he tried to hide it.

Since the editing of the address twelve days before, Rogers had found quite a faithful assistant in Eleanor. But none of her predecessors had been as pleasing to the eye. As much as he was a rational man who rewarded merit and intelligence, regardless of gender, he was still a man. This in no way had troubled him in the least, so far. Sexual attraction was no stranger to Rogers. Almost four years separated from his wife, he had admired several beauties in London once in a while. But it had never put him in harm’s way, and he certainly did not expect it to do so when he began admiring Eleanor. Nor did he believe that Eleanor herself could be in jeopardy. Life had hardened her and it did not seem to him that she was easily overpowered in feelings for a man. And thus he had so far admired her, not so much secretly, but privately, giving no consequence to it.

Her simple, natural beauty needed no adornment. She blushed like a rose and her lips looked like velvety petals. The glow she had about her was so sweet that it gentled him. The graceful lightness in her step, a skip almost, made her as innocent as a young girl. The excitement in her eyes as blue green as the Sargasso sea made her nearness stimulating. Her bashful modesty was piquant. In short, after twelve days and twelve nights, Rogers felt tender, protective, manly and aroused all at once around her. And he became very generous of mind. He owed it all to her. She had written the address, mediated between the impasse between Chamberlain and himself, supported him when nobody else did, put Chamberlain back in his place in a manner that he never could and only she came up with the brilliant solution of sending Hornigold.  

When the relief over the glorious success of Hornigold’s address washed over him, _she_ had been the first person he searched with his eyes amongst the people on deck to share the laurels of success. When his searching eyes had found her, she was staring dreamily at Nassau, modestly with her hands folded in front of her. Rogers was partly disappointed that she was not looking at him. But he concluded that for her, this victory opened a whole new chapter without knowing what to expect of it. He was reluctant to part with her and it seemed unwise to let her return to her father’s business, if it was still hers to get back. _I need her help, more than ever_ , Rogers told himself, _and she needs a home and position. She deserves one. I can give it to her_.   

As much as Rogers looked forward at her continued presence in his new home, it dawned on him then that there lay the danger. No woman he had been attracted to after his separation from his wife, had also actually lived with him. If he would offer her a permanent position in a close working relationship, where she would be by his side all the time, then he had to tread carefully and reveal no partiality to her in that regard, for her sake and his own. And he had begun very faithful to his resolve, when she entered his quarter, by perusing papers he was not actually reading.

Finally, Eleanor went around the chair and sat down, watching Rogers’ face. He reached for a plume to place his signature underneath the document that lay before him. She put her head sideways to try and read it. “What is that?”

“This is a contract in which it says you are working in my service as senior counselor. It stipulates what is required from you, your stipend, how I will provide for your accommodation, food, dress and any other necessities required for you to work as one of my representatives on the counsel.”

Eleanor had drawn up great many contracts, but she had never served under a contract for someone else. And she found the idea very amusing. “I should read that thoroughly before I sign it.”

Rogers raised his eyebrows at her. “You should.”

“See how I can make the most out of this. A business deal should always leave both parties somewhat unsatisfied.”

He rolled his eyes and handed her the contract. She was to be present at any public meeting automatically, at private meetings when Rogers required it. Since that could be at irregular hours, she therefore was housed in the governor’s home in an apartment befitting her status. As a high ranked counselor in permanent residence of the governor’s home, she would have all her meals as if she were a member of the family. As a representative of the governor she was required to dress accordingly in style. For this she was to be given a monthly allowance of eight pounds sterling. Furthermore she would receive a yearly stipend of two hundred pounds sterling. When she calculated the total, he meant to pay her three hundred pounds a year to counsel him, live and eat with him.

“Well?” said Rogers slightly irritated. “Are you going to sign it? Or do you need anything else?” When she did not directly answer, he added. “Jewelry will have to come out of your own pocket.”

“This is not London.”

“And what do you mean by that?”

“This contract would make me a thief.”

Rogers stared at her in consternation. “A thief? When I’m paying you by contract?”

“The price of living in Nassau is not like in London, and since you already provide for my living….”

Rogers rose from his chair. “You do realize that you will be practically serving as a representative of the government and the crown and thus must be dressed accordingly, like –“ he paused. “like a hostess. Much of what you will need will have to be imported, and acquired by legal trade this time. Besides, I already took different living into account. In London I would pay you double.”

“So, _you_ are the crook here.”

“I am.” He lifted his plume, dipped it in ink and held it out for her. “Now sign!”

“Perhaps, I should seek employment elsewhere,” she teased a last time.

“You can’t. Your resume lacks credibility. It’s this or the street for you,” Rogers said somewhat irritated. She finally reached with her hand for the extended plume and drew her name underneath.  He picked up the duplicate and laid it above the contract she had already signed. “I do thank you for your concern over my ability to afford your employment though.” Rogers sat back down in his chair. “First task of the day – a list of names.”

Eleanor frowned. “What sort of names?”

“I want to install a governing council as soon as we can settle in Nassau. It should not just be people who sailed with me and never set a foot in Nassau before. There are people in New Providence and Nassau with influence, willingness and ability to make Nassau a center of commerce. Like you, they survived this place for many years and even made something out of it, other than a beach with tents.”

“How big is this council supposed to be?”

“I can think of six men I brought with me: a liaison of the Royal Navy, of the Militia, West Indie trading company, liaison of the chair of Commerce –“

Eleanor interrupted him. “If you have a council with six men from England, you ought to invite six people from New Providence. As you say, Nassau has survived and expanded the past decades pretty much all by themselves.”

“That sounds reasonable, yes. I have one condition though – none of the council should be one who signed articles of a pirate crew. There is a difference between pardoning pirates and actually giving them a counseling seat, both in the eyes of the Crown and I would think Spain.”

“I'm a convicted pirate,” Eleanor whispered.

“Did you sign articles? Did you ever receive a direct share?”

“No.”

“You fenced pirated plunder – bought it and sold it.” Rogers furrowed his brow. “Which brings me to my second task for you - a list of names of those you know to have signed articles and get a share, regardless of the fact that they sailed under the black.”

“That will be a far longer list, sir.”

He grimaced at her, as if saying, then get to it. Eleanor took two fresh sheets of papers. On the first she wrote, “Pirates” at the top. On the other, she wrote “Not Pirates”. For some unknown reason the first name that came to her was Captain Lilywhite. _That would be pirate, definitely. Not much of a good pirate, but pirate nonetheless_. _Captain Lawrence_. He had been a pirate once, but she had made him a merchant captain. So, he went on the other list, but she put him somewhere in the middle of the page. And when she thought of it, it was very likely that he was not even on the island anymore. When she was taken, the remainder of her self-installed consortium might have fled. She put a question mark behind him. Captain Naft she put at the bottom of the no-pirate list, also with a question mark. _Mr. Frasier._ Eleanor hesitated for a moment. Personally, she had never much liked the man - he and she would never be friends - but he was of sound mind. And since the pirates needed him to make exchanges he was probably still on the island. Most likely, he had bought out all the shares of the others and owned her father’s business. She put him high on the list. Mrs. Mapleton was on the no pirate list. _That one is a survivor._ She wrote _informer_ and _former-brothel madam_ behind it.

And then she thought of Max. In a short time, Max had been shrewd enough to go from a gang-raped whore to brothel madam. But she had signed articles and owned a share of Rackham’s plunder, including the Urca gold. The plume scratched as she added Max’s name on the pirate list. Behind Max’s name, Eleanor wrote brothel madam and an arrow with the names of Rackham and Featherstone. Both lists grew longer and longer. She even included inland farmers on the no-pirate list, such as Mr. Underhill, the priest and others. When she was done with the no-pirate list, Eleanor surveyed the names and started to add crosses in front of those she thought could be of help to the new regime. Meanwhile, Rogers took her list of pirate captains, quartermasters and significant shareholders. He poured himself a cup of wine, and walked to the window.

“Might I also suggest that at least one of the six is a representative of the inland farmers,” Eleanor said.

“Hmmm,” he agreed absent mindedly. He turned his back to the window. “This Max. You mentioned her before. She worked against you, did she not? By selling leads? Why is she amongst the pirates?”

Eleanor stared at him. “You stipulated anyone who signed articles and had a share in a pirate crew. She helped Rackham to a Captaincy with a crew and wanted in on their share. The crew was not eager for women to have a share, and they made Rackham choose between either giving Anne Bonny a cut or Max. He chose Max. She then managed to get a lead on the whereabouts of the Urca’s shipwreck and had Rackham and Featherstone unload the Colonial Dawn to sail for the gold.”

Rogers lifted his eyes and pursed his lips. “I see.”

She rose from her chair, walked over to him and presented her other list. “Max does not care much for Nassau. It is but a beach to her.” Eleanor stood beside Rogers and watched the waters of the bay. “Max arrived in Nassau only little over a year ago. Her father was a rich colonist of Haiti, her mother his slave. She wants all the luxury, finery and respect that she feels she is owed, but denied by her father, by society. Her way of getting it is by acquiring power.” She turned a little, finding herself looking up into his eyes and standing only a few feet away from him. “She might choose to leave Nassau, but if she does not it is best not to antagonize her. She more than likely has a lot of influence on the street.”

Rogers lifted his eyes from the second list, lingered for a moment when meeting her eyes, before looking away. He stepped back, away to his desk. “Yes, well I trust you will know how to communicate her that her governor has no intentions to interfere with her legal business, and regards her as a respectable, free citizen of England if and when she accepts the king’s pardon.” He turned halfway to her. “Shall we go on deck and learn how Captain Hornigold’s conquest of the beach proceeds?”

On deck, Major Andrews of the Regulars informed Rogers that soldiers had been launched to a close-by neighboring beach east of the bay, together with two administrative clerks to hand out the pardons. Meanwhile, Eleanor overlooked the bay and Nassau. She would have a new purpose and home in Nassau, a truer one. Her father’s business had always been more of a means to an end, to build a peaceful and prosperous Nassau. Working for Rogers would be less lonely. She trailed the railing dreamily with her finger as she stood near the stairs on the upper quarterdeck. _He believes in me, despite my past, despite the things I did, despite me being a woman_. _And he’s attracted to me, like I am to him_. And that answered Mrs. Hudson’s other question – _he is my temptation. He._

She raked her eyes across the deck and watched him discuss Teach’s defense with the Commodore. _Take care, Eleanor_ , an alternative voice told her in thought. It sounded like her father. _He may not care what others think of you. You may not care what people think of you, except for him. But don’t you care what people will say and think of him? Out there, on that beach and beyond live your enemies. His regard for you will not make them any less petty in the hope to see you downtrodden again. They would sabotage you, backstab you and ultimately sabotage him_. She leaned on the rail and frowned.   _Perhaps I should resign from this, save him from being undermined by his association with me?_

Rogers left Chamberlain’s side and climbed the stairs. “Commodore reports no change in their posture, but he believes it's only a matter of time until we can expect their surrender.” He joined her on the upper quarterdeck, standing behind her, while she gazed at Teach’s fleet.

“Teach and his men will never take the pardons.” Eleanor turned away from the sight of the fleet and looked up at him. “His crew will be filled with fanatics.”

“Even fanatics need to eat,” Rogers reasoned. “With the beach secured and no escape possible, they have no means to replenish supplies. Time is against them.” Eleanor glanced behind her at the pirate fleet, thinking that Teach would rather force an out to sail away from Nassau with that magnificent Man O War, than surrender and become a citizen of England. It was a wonder he had not even tried it yet, since the moment the beach had surrendered. “You haven't asked,” Rogers said softly. She looked at him in wonder. “About the status of Captain Vane.”

For a moment she was puzzled by the mentioning of Charles and lifted her eyebrows in perplexity. She had not thought of Charles much today, or even lately. He was out there, at the Fort of Nassau, with the gold, surrounded by men who wanted to kill or capture him for a bounty. It now seemed years ago, but she had once believed she loved him, cared for him. She had believed she loathed him but a month ago still. However, her life and mind had altered so much, and her feelings had been occupied with altogether a different object. In truth, Charles had been forgotten. Touched by Rogers’ concern and belief that she harbored feelings for Vane still, either hate or love, she answered diplomatically, “I understand that there are a great many elements to this operation, of which Charles is just one. I trust that if there's any development on that issue you will let me know.”

“Good,” said Rogers, unconvinced. He frowned. “Then may I ask what it is that's causing you to make that face?”

Eleanor bowed her head self-consciously, touched even more that he had apparently studied her face enough to know something was amiss, and cared about how she felt. “My appointment as your advisor,” she said, with regret. She met his deep blue eyes that squinted against the sun. “I understand that you don't care what reaction your people may have to it, but your people, I'm afraid, are only half the issue.” Eleanor indicated her head towards the beach. “I have enemies on that island. Enemies who may be far less likely to accede to your authority, seeing me beside you offering my counsel.” Eleanor felt miserable at the idea of being separated from his side, but the reminder she had given Hornigold applied to herself as well. They all had to make sacrifices for the greater good. At the very least, she ought to give him the opportunity to rescind him hiring her. “I have no idea what the future may hold for me here, but I believe your success is key to it. The last thing I would want to do is undermine you.”

And right then an explosion was heard. Eleanor turned and saw smoke come from the Fort of Nassau.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The 3x04 scene where Rogers mentions Vane: A startling scene in context of what must be happening on the island - Vane hunted by pirates. The moment that revenge is nigh, Eleanor thinks of someone else. That leads to my interpretation that Eleanor is already moving on, even from the hatred. Eleanor is "sea-changed". This imo "Charles was forgotten" point of that scene makes Vane's line after he saw her on deck of the Delicia rather painful. He believes she was on deck for tactical purposes to taunt him into making a mistake, and it couldn't be much further from the truth. This Charles-Teach scene is paralleled later when Rogers acknowledges a change in her and asks the cause. While Vane told Teach that Eleanor taught him the lesson, Eleanor implies Rogers is the cause of her sea-change. We see something similar with Max-Eleanor. Max is nearly obsessed in comparing herself to Eleanor, despite believing her to be dead.
> 
> Rogers' marriage status - Rogers and Sarah were most likely separated by 1713, over a year after his return from his around-the-world voyage, likely after the death of the 4th child. They lived separate lives away from each other (Bristol and London from 1713). There is no evidence they ever reconciled or that Rogers even met with Sarah ever again. His family portrait contains just him (as governor of Nassau), his two surviving adult children, and a female servant. It's an official portrait about the office of an important man, but his lawful wife is absent, though she died in the same year as he did in 1732).


	9. The Fireship

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As it becomes clear who blew up part of Fort Nassau, Eleanor begins to understand Teach's plans. While everybody else is sure that Teach's surrender is nigh, Eleanor's worst nightmare seems to take form. As Teach and Vane make their escape under darkness of the night, Rogers is confronted with his own feelings about Eleanor and Eleanor dreams of a warning.

“One of the pirates wanting the bounty for Vane must have used gunpowder to gain access,” Chamberlain said as he joined Rogers who gazed at the blast of Fort Nassau through a spyglass. “I expect the message from the beach to concur that Captain Vane is caught any time soon.”

Rogers stared darkly at the evidence of the destructive blow. “Captain Hornigold knows I want that fort and what’s in it whole. Mr. Dufresne and the captain were to relay that message to every pirate that surrendered and surrounds the fort.” He lowered the spyglass. “More than likely it is an attempt by Vane and Rackham to escape. Signal the beach that the fort must be secured immediately, before anybody loots the place. Let the pirates of Nassau hunt Vane in the streets afterwards. The gold has priority over anything else.”

Before long, they received a reply signal from the beach. The blast was caused by Charles to make his escape. Rogers rose the stairs and said in a low voice to Eleanor. “Vane is at large, but all the island is hunting him now as we speak.”

“What about the gold?” asked Eleanor with alarm. “Was Captain Hornigold able to secure it?”

“Its status is as of yet uncertain. The blast did not help matters.” Rogers inclined his head sideways and appraised her with some wonder.

Eleanor squinted at the fort and Nassau in the distance. “But the men inside the fort, surrendered, yes? Rackham, Featherstone?”

“No names were mentioned, only that all resistance inside was defeated.”

Her hand around the rail tensed and Eleanor dug her nails in the wood. _Rackham and Charles are up to no good_. _Even when desperate, they come up with the most devious plans. If they blew up the fort’s wall to escape, then Rackham would have had a plan, surely_. But there would not have been any time to carry a whole fortress of gold out, not under the watchful eye of the crew - _maybe a few bars here or there, no more than they could stuff in their pockets_. She became aware Rogers was still watching her and instinctively glanced over her shoulder at him.

“Miss Eleanor Guthrie sees past her anger and self-interest, and focuses on the greater end instead, thrice in two days. How did that happen?”

Eleanor turned and looked up into his puzzled blue eyes. _You happened_ , she thought, but she said, “I read a book.”

This brought a twinkle into his eyes and an amused smile. Rogers nodded, inhaled deeply, leaned on the banister and looked into the distance. Eleanor stared at him for a moment longer, stilled her heart, turned and let her eyes rake across the roofs of Nassau town. While wondering what might be happening down there, her eyes trailed off towards the tents on the beach and on to Teach’s fleet. Something clicked. “Charles joined Teach!” she blurted.

“Beg pardon?”

“Teach saw Charles as his son. He knows signal code as well as the Commodore.” Finally, Eleanor understood why Teach had returned to Nassau, why he refused to surrender and yet had not made an effort to breach Rogers’ fleet formation. Eight years was a long time, enough to forgive Charles’ betrayal to him, and with the news that she had been convicted in England, Teach wanted to retrieve the one pirate he respected and made in his own image. “I think Teach may be out there on the beach to retrieve Charles Vane to join him.”

Rogers gestured at an officer. He went down the stairs, reached out his arm for the spyglass held out to him, and brought it before his eye. When he lowered it, he turned, looked up to her and nodded. “You are right! I just saw them both climbing aboard.”

Eleanor sighed.  “Are you sure it was Charles?”

“One large man with a black coat and black beard and a shorter, younger man - strong, fighting man - with light brown, long hair down to his waist. Like you described him.” He gestured her to come down and held the spyglass in the air. “Do you wish the spyglass to verify?”

Eleanor shook her head, then lifted her skirt and walked down the stairs, her hand on the handrail, surveying the formation of Teach’s fleet, filled with crew who would rather die fighting than accept pardons.  She wandered past starboard, frowning at the ships, until she finally joined Rogers waiting for her. “Teach will try something,” she said. “He wants to escape, with that fleet and Charles.”

“I had the Commodore maneuver a frigate around the Hog to prevent them from escaping via the east channel when the tide rises.” He smiled at her, reassuring, and yet she felt a dread. “Let us go downstairs and await more news there. The Commodore will inform us of any change.”

Hours later, after nightfall and dinner, Commodore Chamberlain reported his beliefs to Governor Rogers. “They are without option now. Sooner or later they'll realize their only escape is to surrender Captain Vane and stand down.” He bowed and took his hat from under his arm. “Gentlemen,” he said to his officers guarding the door to have them follow after him as he left.

They were alone again and Eleanor started for the door as well. Her working relationship with Rogers would start off having a bad influence on gossip if she remained after dark. “What would they say?” asked Rogers.

“Who?”

“Your enemies on the island,” he said. Eleanor’s heart skipped a beat. “You seem concerned about what I'm going to hear them say about you. Maybe it would be better to hear it now, while all else is quiet.”

Rogers had considered her warning about her enemies and how keeping her by his side might derail the support from Nassau. Hornigold handed her to England to be hanged and had eyed Rogers with misgivings when he learned that Eleanor was part of Rogers’ endeavor. And yet, her actions, her opinions and counsel today had been invaluable. Of course the conundrum was that she herself counseled him against her senior advisor position, not because she would counsel him badly, but because what others might say about her.

Eleanor trembled, stood in doubt. But eventually she turned to face Woodes. “They would say I'm untrustworthy. That I would turn on anyone at any time, no matter how close they were to me.” Her voice became a whisper. “No matter who it hurt or how severely.” She raised her eyebrows and looked away, unable to look him in the eye then. “That, given my history, only a fool would allow me to get close to them again.” She met his eyes finally and fell silent, spellbound, quivering.

He stared hard at her, grim, severe. “Would they be right?”

Eleanor searched for words, opened her mouth, but her throat was dry and thick. They were right about her untrustworthiness in the past. She could not look back upon it without shame. But if he asked her whether she would betray him – _no, not him_. It would however sound like a hollow lie given her history. Nor did she dare to speak the reason why they would be wrong. How could she find the words to convince him, when she herself barely figured out her own feelings and thoughts? It had all come so rapidly, and realization only started to dawn the day before. More, any such confession was inappropriate. His own behavior today had told her that despite his own attraction to her he wanted to keep their relation within social acceptable boundaries. Hence, Eleanor was utterly speechless.

Seeing her forlorn, Rogers made a decision, more on intuition and instinct than on reason. He rose from his seat. “You tamed this place once, despite what anyone may say of you.” He walked round the desk and came to stand in front of her, leaning his hand relaxed on the back of a chair. “And I desire your counsel, despite what anyone may say of you. So let us move forward, despite what anyone, whether from your world or from mine, may say of you.”

Eleanor was flabbergasted, humbled by his continued assertion he would have her by his side, no matter what people said of her. _Is he real? Or a figment of my imagination?_

A knock on the door interrupted them. “What is it?” he said annoyed.

One of the lieutenants entered, a Lieutenant Perkins. “The Commodore thinks you better see this for yourself, Lord Governor. Something is happening with the fleet of the pirates.”

Rogers hastened through the corridor and Eleanor attempted to keep up. “Is Teach surrendering?”

“We are not sure, sir. But there seems to be a ship sailing our way.”

 _Could I have been wrong about Teach_ , Eleanor wondered. Rogers demanded a spyglass, climbed onto the quarterdeck with strides that took two stairs at once and studied the darkness before them. From the lower quarterdeck, Eleanor saw nothing on the water yet, not under the cover of darkness.

“It’s a schooner, sailing towards us,” Chamberlain said. “She's under a white banner. Gunports closed.”

“How the hell did she get so close?” Rogers wanted to know.

“She was hidden behind their line. By the time she emerged, she was fully underway. She's subject to our full broadside,” Chamberlain tried to assure the governor. “She's either surrendering, or we have her dead to rights.”

The dread she had been feeling ever since Charles rejoined Teach twisted and coiled in her stomach, making her feel ill. Hornigold had slipped past Teach under the white flag, and not to surrender himself to the pirates on the beach. She looked up anxiously at Rogers, who glanced down at her. _Please remember my words about Teach and his fanatics_ , she thought. Finally, Eleanor could see its sail and its white flag herself emerge from the darkness with her own eyes. She held her breath. It was closing rapidly.

Rogers ordered in a low voice, “Slip the anchor cables.”

“Break our line over the approach of a schooner?” Chamberlain protested. “I think you overestimate - ”

“While there is still time, cut the goddamn cables!” Rogers overruled the Commodore.

A whistle coming from the schooner sounded over the water. Eleanor heard splashes. It could only mean one thing – men aboard that schooner had just jumped overboard. _Oh, gods_ , Eleanor thought, _I was right. It’s happening_. And then all of a sudden, flames erupted from its deck. It quickly spread to the topmast, the yards and the bowsprit, as if a firesprite set the schooner aflame.

“Fire ship!” the look-out shouted.

“Bloody hell,” swore Chamberlain under his breath. And finally he shouted the order, “Cut the anchor cables! Get us underway!”

The order was shouted down the line of officers, captains and sailors. “Cut the anchor! Cut the anchor cables!”

All of the schooner was now ablaze, from waist to crow’s nest, in every cabin, and all flames met and joined into a giant bonfire that cracked and roared.

“Starboard batteries!” yelled the Commodore for the gunmen to hold ready. “Fire!”

Eleanor found herself in the middle of a mayhem of cannons firing and gunshots, while orders were shouted at the top of their lungs. The thick, white smoke rising from the cannons stung her eyes. The air itself smelled of burned charcoal, ammonia and left a bad taste in her mouth, like rotten eggs. The deck and the bay had become a world of fire and brimstone. The cannons kept firing but with little success. Meanwhile the schooner was a fireball, nearing ever closer and unstoppable. _Do something_ _!_ Eleanor glanced up at Rogers who studied the fire-ship through the spyglass. _Surely he can do something_.

“Too high,” Rogers mumbled. “You're aiming too high!” he bellowed. Rogers ran down the stairs, past Eleanor. “Forget the rigging!” he barked at the gun crew as he approached the lower gun-deck. “Aim at his hull! At the waterline!” He clapped the gunners on the back. “Aim for the waterline!” He leaned over deck and roared at the men below. “Gun crews, redirect to the waterline! Redirect to the waterline!”

His orders were repeated, but in the midst of people shouting all sorts of orders, explosions and the roar of the fire on the schooner that drew closer, Eleanor could not make out whether any of them actually listened to him. Rogers stepped back from the lower deck and gaped at the terrible, burning schooner that lit the night. Almost instinctively, Eleanor left the quarterdeck and rushed to his side. _How close it is_ , she wondered - _a fiery, ominous  torch_. She felt the heat reaching as far as her face. She could smell the burned wood, pitch and sulfur. It looked both horrific and beautiful all at once – a ship from hell. Then a fireball exploded, like a thunderbolt. For a moment, Eleanor was blinded by it and she felt a searing heat pass. Next she saw sparks of flame raining down on her. Instinctively, she tried to shield her face, while she thought, _I die now_. A man jumped between her and the flames, grabbed her by the shoulder with one arm, locked his hand around her wrist, and pushed her to the door underneath the raised quarterdeck.

“Lieutenant!” Rogers hollered as he pushed her into the young man’s arms. “Get her inside!” He raced back to the main deck and gesticulated, “Go! Go!” She whirled around to hold on to him, but the lieutenant’s hold on her was strong and he dragged her by the shoulders below the quarterdeck.

“He’s still out there, in that hell - the fire,” she muttered. “You have to go get him,” she mumbled at lieutenant Perkins. She whirled around and grabbed his arms. “You have to go get him!” Her hands were shaking, and she felt her knees buckle. They felt like rubber.

But the young man simply smiled at her as if she were some child. “He’ll be fine, miss. He knows what he’s doing. This is not his first battle.”

She gaped at Perkins and suddenly felt foolish. _He’s right. Rogers had battled at sea before, caught himself two Manila galleons. He’s the Captain-General of the fleet, a commander. What sort of commander would he be if he were to hide inside his ship, while his men risked their lives?_ “I’m sorry for my outburst, Lieutenant. I don’t know what came over me.”

“It’s quite all right, miss. You’re not used to this.” He opened the door to the governor’s quarters.

Mrs. Hudson rushed to her side from the corridor. “I will see to her, Lieutenant.” Her chambermaid and companion took her by the hand and led her to a chair. Eleanor lifted her hand and willed it to remain still. But it was no good. She simply could not keep from shaking. “Did you hurt your hands, Miss Guthrie?”

Eleanor looked about her. There was only her and Mrs. Hudson in the quarter. The lieutenant was gone already. Her hands looked black. It did not hurt though. “I don’t think so, no.”

Gently, Mrs. Hudson supported Eleanor’s right hand and dabbed a cloth soaked in cold water with it. “It is only soot,” assured Mrs. Hudson. She pulled Eleanor up. “Let me inspect whether you have any burns.” Mrs. Hudson made her turn slowly. “Only soot and smoke, Miss Guthrie.”

A sequence of scenes repeated itself over and over in her head. It all had happened so quick. One moment she was in the line of fire raining down on her and she thought she was about to die, and the next he had pushed her away and blocked the fire’s path. _He saved my life twice now_.

Mrs. Hudson walked to the other side of the quarter, opened a cabinet, took out a justaucorps, made her sit down again and draped the jacket over Eleanor’s shoulders. “That’s for the shaking.”

She was not even aware that she was shivering, until Mrs. Hudson remarked on it. _It smells of him,_ Eleanor thought _._ It was a rather worn one, simple, for everyday wear. Eleanor stopped trembling. But her mind was still reliving the fire-ship coming at their line. It had been coming straight their way, originally. The cutting of the line had ensured they drifted off away from the schooner’s line just far enough. _It was meant to destroy the Delicia, and everyone on it, me, him_. She was suddenly sure of it. More than likely, Teach had seen her on deck. Maybe, Charles had too. _Has this turned into a race of who kills who first?_   

Rogers burst into his quarter. “Were you harmed?”

“No.” Eleanor shook her head.

“What were you thinking, coming so close to it?” He ran his hand through his hair, strode to his bar, poured a good deal of brandy in a cup and downed it in one go.

“I-I…” She had not been thinking. Eleanor lowered her head. “I wasn’t.”

Rogers stood frozen and wordless for a moment and then glanced sideways at Mrs. Hudson who tried to retreat into the background. “Well,” he said. “Well.” Rogers picked another cup, poured brandy in it and then held it out to her. “You look like you need this.”

She took it with both hands, sipped and coughed as the liquor burned her throat. “What happened? Is it over now?” She felt the heat of the liquor spread from her throat to her chest.

Mrs. Hudson closed the doors for them. “Yes.” Rogers flopped onto a chair. “Once we broke our line, Teach and Vane sailed away under the cover of darkness. The fire-ship’s brightness made it hard to see their fleet. It was a trick to make their escape with the Man O War and the rest of the pirate fleet, just as you said. They’re probably on their way to Ocracoke, never to be seen again.” Rogers sighed. “They’re gone.”

“What about the fire? Was anyone hurt?”

“Only material damage and minor burns,” he assured her. “It hit the _Willing Mind_. Everybody on board managed to escape by jumping in the water along backboard. The doctor is seeing to their burns and cuts as we speak.” Then his tone got darker. “But the _Willing Mind_ has been damaged beyond repair. It’s only good for wood and gun salvaging now. And all of the stock inside, almost all of the stock we brought with us, was destroyed.” Rogers rolled his eyes. “Good thing that both are insured.”

They fell silent. Eleanor sipped her brandy like a child her honeyed warm milk, unwilling to leave from under his coat that enveloped her. Rogers sat brooding, his booted legs wide and his elbows leaning on his knees, while his brandy in his hand hung forgotten in the air. Her mind wandered back to the fire-ship. There had been a bawdy song sung once in her tavern, made up by a resentful pirate of Charles’ crew after she had him deposed of his captaincy. The coward had left Charles’ side after her decree, but sought to frequent her bar to taunt her, instead of employment. The song had gone along the lines of  Vane firing his cannon and ramming into a rakish fire-ship. Eleanor had the rascal kicked out for it. But on the beach, amongst the tents she could hear drunken pirates sing it once in a while. _I was no fire-ship_ , she thought. _I gave him my maidenhead_.

Rogers’ mind too was filled with the memory of the hellburner, first to the losses he had suffered from it – vessel and stock – then to Chamberlain who had debated his command in full view of everybody, today and yesterday. But finally to the moment where he ducked and turned away from the raining fire, only to knock her over almost – he had not known she had been standing right behind him - and the fright he felt for Eleanor’s life at that instant. When he had finally allowed himself to depart the deck, his first thoughts had been of her health and assuring with his own eyes that she was well. His angry outburst over her carelessness had taken him by surprise.

Rogers glanced at her, warm beneath his favorite cloak. Her hair was wild and in disarray, her cheek smeared with soot, as were her otherwise rose-colored hands. But her eyes beamed with a wild fiery light like that of Greek fire, green-blue as her dress. His heart drummed like a batter ram in his chest, for during his earlier angry outburst, he was stupefied by the sudden apprehension that if he did not heed himself, he was in a fair way of falling in love. In the eyes of Mrs. Hudson, who had once served his wife, it must have been a highly inappropriate scene. And it was all his own fault. Like a warned boy, he had played with fire of a honeyed lamp to see better and if he were not careful he would suffer the burn.

All the while, the silence endured for so long that both grew uncomfortably aware of it. And when finally it became unbearable, Eleanor set down her cup on his desk, and lifted his coat from her shoulders. “Thank you,” she whispered. She rose from the chair. “I think I must rest now.”

He shook his head slightly, to wake himself from this daze. Rogers stood as well, as a gentleman must do. They stared at one another for a lingering moment, unmoving, but the several feet between them seemed as wide as an ocean. “Yes, rest. Tomorrow we launch.”

When she lay down on her bed in her own room, Eleanor closed her eyes, exhausted, and dreamed of her dead father, looking rich and strange in the darkness. A bell tolled. Down in the vaults of hell, shaped like a maze, Eleanor ran in fear of pursuit while holding a box she had been sent beneath the earth to fetch. The tunnels smelled of sulfur and it was so hot that even the walls sweat. She fumbled with the keys to unlock the door of bars and pushed it open with all her might. Dragging steps echoed against the walls. Frantically she pushed the screeching gate closed, fast perusing the hundred of similar keys, needing to test each one before she could seal the lock, just in time.

There was his torch at the other side of the gate. He looked at the box and said, “That is mine, which you stole. Give it back and I’ll forget you ever took it. Come back through the gate. We’ll be together, eternal, here in my dark keep.”

In her dream though, Charles was not the handsome man she used to remember him as. He was still fierce and strong, but bent and misshapen, grotesque and dark. Eleanor took a step back, away from him.

“You wound me,” he growled, and she saw blood seeping from his shoulder and chest. Eleanor turned and ran, chased by his howling echo. “I assure you, you will hear from me again!”

A burner from hell sailed straight in her direction. It exploded and before her very eyes turned into a spectacle high into the night sky. As she stood in the eruption of flames a shadow toppled her, and Eleanor fell. She believed it to be a spirit with a brave form that held her down.

Her father laughed. “No, my dear. He eats and sleeps, just like us.”

Then she finally could see Rogers’ face, stained and scarred. Eleanor still held the box, and in that moment she opened it. A slow melancholic air of sweet music filled the heavens – violins and her mother’s harpsichord. The swelling violins made it sweeter and more virtuous than Eleanor had ever heard before. Along with the music, Eleanor gave the grieving man who searched forlorn his beauty back, for goodness he already had.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Tempest - The description of the fireship alludes to Ariel's retelling of setting Alonso's ship aflame to cause the shipwreck (act 1, scene 2). Ariel's song with Prospero commenting on Ferdinand features in Eleanor's dream. 
> 
> Fireship - slang from the second half of the 17th century, means "whore, with an STD and/or thievish". "A Dictionary of Sexual Language and Imagery of Shakespearian and Stuart Literature" by Gordon Williams sums a whole list of sources of its use. 'Pokey whore', 'Poxy whore', 'Punk', 'Rakish', or in reference to men having lost their nose from syfilis, then still deadly and untreatable. A link to a badwy song of the time - http://www.horntip.com/html/songs_sorted_by_name/with_music/f/the_fire_ship.htm
> 
> "And when she moored herself to me, I knew she was a whore.  
> But still she was a pretty girl; she shyly hung her head.  
> ...  
> But little did I ever think she was one of the rakish kind.  
> I played with her for quite some time, and learned to my surprise,  
> She was nothing but a fire ship rigged up in a disguise.  
> So up the stairs and into bed I took that maiden fair.  
> I fired off my cannon into her thatch of hair.  
> I fired off a broadside until my shot was spent,  
> Then rammed that fire ship's waterline until my ram was bent.  
> Then in the morning she was gone; my money was gone too.  
> My clothes she'd hocked; my watch she stole; my sea bag was gone too.  
> But she'd left behind a souvenir, I'd have you all to know,  
> And in nine days, to my surprise, there was fire down below."
> 
> An anecdote called the 'Comical Exchange Or, a Fireship instead of a Maidenhead' is referenced in reverse when Eleanor denies being a fireship for she gave Vane her maidenhead. 
> 
> In The Ovid Travestie by Radcliff (1681) Paris says this to Helen (of the Illiad):  
> "Brother, quoth [Cassandra], beware, beware, I say,  
> You do not meet a Fireship by the Way :  
> A strange wild Wench, I hope she did not mean  
> That any where your Ladiship's unclean ;  
> Heav'ns forbid : Good Soul, she meant no more  
> Than Flames of Love, as I have said before." 
> 
> When Rogers thinks of the fireship scene, he thinks of Eleanor in terms of 'flames of love' where I equally refer to Cupid being burned by Pysche's oil lamp, and thus as Eleanor as his 'honey'.
> 
> Charles seeing Eleanor through the spyglass - In the show, she comes down from the quarterdeck and moves freely in the direction of the midship. Vane believed she was there to anger him, to force him into making a mistake. This implies he was angered, and not just because she's alive or being excluded from the universal pardon. I think Vane had a glimpse of a scene, short but just long enough, to make him feel jealous and in the eyes of Teach possibly irrational. So, one can imagine Charles spying Eleanor, when in this chapter she walks to Rogers and leaves the deck together with him. Within the context of his own former relation with Eleanor, we can imagine Vane believing that she's "rummaging around with Rogers in the hull". The flames raining down on Eleanor, the "Willing Mind" being "rammed" by a "fireship" creates a message from Vane that means "you punk whore, you burned me." The fireship becomes Vane's insulting opinion on Eleanor. He took her as a 'maiden fair', 'played with her for quite some time', 'rammed her until his ram was bent', and he woke 'bereft from Abigail' after she fucked him. 
> 
> Eleanor's nightmare: mixes references to Psyche & Cupid, the Tempest, and Venus-Vulcan mythology. Psyche is in the underworld on a mission fto get the 'box of beauty'. With Psyche being 'a Venus in human form' her lover Vane acquires aspects of the deformed Vulcan, god of fire, smith and husband to Venus. Instead of Psyche being gifted the box by Persephone, here Pscyhe steals it from Vulcan. A mix of Cupid and Tempest's Ferdinand saves her, with her father telling her he's a real man, not a spirit, and a good man at that (Tempest reference). When she opens to box of beauty Rogers becomes a beautiful man to her, because of his goodness.


	10. Dead Woman Walking

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eleanor and Rogers take a launch to Nassau and settle in the stately Governor's mansion. Rogers teaches her a thing or two how thinking appearances through can be beneficial - when to be inconspicuous, when to use authority. She also learns how much Max has expanded her business through hostile take-over.

With the dawning of the light, Eleanor lifted herself out of her bed and moaned at the soreness of her muscles. Before long, Mrs. Hudson brought in hot water and poured it in her little tub. As Eleanor washed herself, using the mirror to remove any leftover soot from her face, she hummed a song she remembered of her childhood. 

“You have a beautiful voice,” said Mrs. Hudson. “What song is that?”

Eleanor splashed her hand in the water as she dropped the washing cloth to wring out the soap. “It’s part of a suite by Purcell. My mother used to play it on the harpsichord for my father. It would always bring a smile on his face and he would call her his good wife.”

When she stepped out of the water, Mrs. Hudson handed her a new chemise and stockings. With regret, Eleanor looked at the dark green dress she had been wearing the day before. It stank of the sulfurous smoke. “I fear it is ruined,” she said. “There is no way that smell will ever go away.”

“I know some tricks,” said Mrs. Hudson. She opened Eleanor’s trunk and pulled out the red dress she had retouched for Eleanor. “This should really match your hair.” It was a deep red, with fine silken little roses embroidered on it .

There was not much that needed to be packed, but there lay more in her chest than when she first came aboard. Her black mourning dress lay at the bottom, the two green mantuas and petticoats above it, matching stomachers, followed by two extra chemises and stockings, the saffron calico shawl and the dark blue silk dress that Mrs. Hudson still wanted retouched. Last but not least, Eleanor laid the _Twelfth Night_ on top of the pile of clothes. And as she looked at the open trunk with all her worldly possessions put together, she noted the chest seemed almost filled to the top. “Done,” she whispered. Eleanor looked about her and sighed with relief that she could leave this dark hull behind her. She began to hum the slow air of her dream again.

On deck, she saw the bay as she had never seen it before for as long as she remembered – clear of pirate ships. All that remained were some of the bulkier commandeered merchant ships, waving English flags, other than the many launches rowing for the beach with trunks and caskets from Rogers’ remaining fleet.

“Ready for the launch?”

She turned her head and there he stood, smirking. Eleanor ducked her head and tried to hide her smile. “Yes.”

“The lost daughter returns home,” Rogers said. Despite the loss of a ship full of stock and the escape of Charles Vane and Teach, Rogers seemed in quite a good mood. But Eleanor guessed that for him too, after the night there was always a new day. “Nerves?”

She shook her head. “No. You?”

Rogers gestured with his eyebrows. “More like anticipatory jitters to see and meet my new home.” _Yes, I can see it_. Eager was the word that came to her mind – _he’s eager_.

“Sir,” Lieutenant Perkins said. “Your launch is ready.”

“Good.” He waved his hand aside for her to pass ahead of him. “Shall we?”

They walked to starboard of the main deck where a longboat hovered just a few inches above. She had been brought aboard the Scarborough once on boots, with nobody caring how gracefully she was pulled on board by the ladder while bound. In contrast, she had to get off again wearing mules and a pretty red petticoat, looking like a lady in front of the officers. _There is no way I can lift my leg over the launch’s side in any manner that would look elegant._

But then lieutenant Perkins placed a step in front of her, while older Major Andrews of the regulars got up and reached out his hand for her to hold. She lifted her right foot, felt the major’s hand clasp hers firmly, but automatically her other hand searched for support behind her. _His_ hand gently wrapped her searching palm, and gave her the solid support she needed. Involuntarily, Eleanor gasped short for breadth. She glanced over her shoulder, but he avoided to look at her at all. Eleanor pushed and pulled herself up, and then she was over the side of the launch and had the bottom beneath both her feet. However, a boat swinging in mid-air is a very unbalanced thing. Eleanor had felt secure far too quickly, and she nearly tripped. Quickly his firm hand wrenched around her upper arm, as he came up himself, and his other lay tenderly against her waist. When, Eleanor finally regained her balance and steadiness, she almost wished she had not, for his hands were gone.

Eleanor swallowed to control her racing heart and sat on the stern’s bench. Rogers seated himself beside Major Andrews, just in front of her, and put on his tricorne, while rowers helped Mrs. Hudson into the launch, followed by two more redcoats and Lieutenant Perkins. As Mrs. Hudson seated herself beside her, Eleanor heaved a deep sigh and looked towards the beach, never seeing how for a moment, Rogers clenched his hand. The launch was lifted on the pulley, smoothly swung overboard and lowered onto the water of the bay.

"Goodbye, Miss Guthrie!" Mr. Eames cried from across the rail, waving at her. Then he looked behind him to make sure none of his superiors had seen him act so inappropriately and before she could lift her hand at him to wave, he had already disappeared.

It were the young officers of the regulars who helped her onto the wooden landing of Nassau’s beach. Four redcoats awaited them on the beach to be their escort. This seemed excessive to Eleanor. The people had surrendered without a single shot fired. With Flint dead, and Charles and Teach gone there was little chance anyone would try to harm the new governor upon his arrival. _It will give Nassau the wrong impression_. Eleanor was just about to mention this to Rogers, but apparently he had a similar notion as hers.

Rogers took off his hat and said, “Gentlemen, I believe I am quite safe here. The people here have embraced England and the arrival of its new governor. So, I thank you for your loyal service, but I think I will stroll through town to my residence in a less official manner.”

Major Andrews raised his bushy eyebrows. “As you wish, sir.”

“I will see you later on the day, Major,” Rogers smiled.

As soon as they walked onto the white sand of the beach, Eleanor realized why she had never worn mules before. She slipped out of them, bent through her knees and carried them, dangling in one hand. _First thing I buy from my allowance is a pair of laced boots_. Rogers strolled on somewhat ahead. When he turned, he raised his eyebrows, questioning. Eleanor shrugged her shoulders, while she wriggled her toes in the pleasurable feel of the dough-like sand massaging the soles of her feet. “That’s better.”

Once she had caught up with him, he leaned his head in and said, “Now, perhaps you can tell me where I can find the governor’s mansion.”

Rogers was in no hurry though. Once they reached the end of the sand and she put her shoes back on, he strolled as leisurely as possible. He wore a muted grey-green justaucorps without much embellishment and his knee-high riding boots, and held a common black tricorne in hand. He appeared as one of the richer new arrivals in town strolling through Nassau. When people of Nassau glanced at the passer-by, all they saw was a businessman with a pretty, young lass by his side and her chambermaid walking several feet behind them. They gave them little or no consequence.

They were halfway up the street, near the governor’s mansion, when an unwashed man with long, greasy grey hair in a stained, faded and worn grey coat and dirty brown tricorne looked up very much startled. “Fuck me, it’s the Guthrie wench!”

“What you’re jabbering on about, Lilywhite”, said a woman cleaning her window. “The Guthrie woman is dead. Didn’t you hear they tried her in London. She’s dead, hanged.”

“I swear, Maria. That’s fucking Eleanor Guthrie right there, with that rich gentleman.”

The woman turned, put her hands on her hips and stared at the back of Rogers and Eleanor as they sauntered further down the street. “You quaffed and drank too much of that ale last night, I say,” chided Maria. “You see a young woman with blonde hair and see Eleanor Guthrie in all of them. You’re mad and a fool to boot! That’s just one of those new Englishmen and his young wife who came along with the governor. You ever seen Eleanor wear a fancy dress like that?” She snorted. “As if Miss Guthrie caught herself some rich businessman of a husband in a prison.”

"And whyever not? A good hanging would have prevented the gentleman from a bad marriage."

Some of the men in the street saw her, for a moment startled, but then shook their heads and went their way. And so, strangely enough, the street was so certain that Eleanor was dead and hanged months ago, that even when they did recognize her, they dismissed what was right before their very eyes. A different style of dress and hair, and she ambling elegantly and demurely alongside a gentleman and a maid behind her convinced all it could not have been her. Only Captain Lilywhite was sure enough of seeing her, but everybody thought him a loon anyway.

They wandered onto the market square, past the town's gate and arrived before the colonial mansion, where workers unloaded crates from carts. Others carried them in, and some carried boxes of rubbish and empty bottles out. It was said that Rackham had taken it and turned it into a gambling house the last few months, which surprised Eleanor but little. Once inside, they were met by a hustle and bustle of officials signing papers, furniture being brought in, desks being set up. Rogers and Eleanor ambled through the grand hallway and entered the great assembly hall.

“I was told you once lived here,” said Woodes as he reached for the chandelier hanging from the ceiling.

Eleanor turned slowly around full circle, looking at the walls and the ceilings. “For a short time, when I was very young. Before my father moved us to the interior and the opium traders claimed it for themselves.” It seemed the mansion had weathered its previous occupants well enough.

Rogers moved to one of the crates that had just been brought in with rolled maps. “Home to a smuggler, den to opium fiends, salon to a pirate king.” He lifted one of the rolls higher out of the box to see what it was before he let it drop back in its place. “Suppose I'll fit right in.”

Eleanor chuckled. “Before any of that, it was home to a long line of governors. It will remember.”

“Yes,” Rogers sighed as he rejoined her side. “Well, let's hope I don't fit in too well with _them_.”

“Sir?” Lieutenant Perkins rushed in with an envelope. “For your signature.”

“Thank you, Lieutenant.” Rogers unsealed the envelope and studied the papers he had just been given.

“What is that?” Eleanor asked.

“Petitions to the Lloyds.” Rogers walked towards a table free from crates and packs. “Attesting to the fact that the damage to the _Willing Mind_ last night was no fault of ours and thus insurable.” He wiped his hand across the surface to clear some of the dust on it, threw his hat onto the table, and laid out the document before him. Rogers dipped a plume in the inkpot. “Months from now, somewhere in Cornwall, a clerk will be asked to draft a letter to Charles Vane, asking for his version of events.” Rogers signed the document. “And they'll withhold payment for years, awaiting his response.” He put the plume back in its holder, turned and folded the papers. “Between you and I, if there were ever a moment in which I sympathized with the desire to tear down the flag and declare myself in open rebellion against the Crown, it's when dealing with the insurance company.”

Only half hearing him, Eleanor had wandered off, remembering disturbing flashes of a nightmare, as well as the fireship. _If Teach and Charles did not realize I was the reason why the governor excluded Vane from the universal pardon, then surely they would have by now. And what is to keep Charles from trying to come back and do to Nassau what he did to Charleston? Teach might not care for it, but Charles?_ Though he used to say that a lion kept no den, Nassau had been his home too. Unlike Teach, Charles could not abide with someone taking what he believed to be his. Charles always settled his scores somehow, and often unseen or coming from behind.

Rogers handed the papers back to the Lieutenant, came to stand beside her and looked at her with concern. “He isn't coming back,” he said gently. She looked sideways into his eyes, hoping very much it was true. “Charles Vane is no longer a part of Nassau's story,” Rogers asserted and she lowered her eyes. “You know that, yes?” She gave a curt nod, but remained unconvinced.

“My lord!” cried Hornigold, entering the great hall.

Rogers welcomed the captain, his hands in open expectation. “Do you have it?”

“Excavation of the northwest tunnel is complete. After significant work to –“

“Do you have it?” The governor pressed his hands together in emphasis.

Beaming, Captain Hornigold lifted his chin. “The main vaults are secured, as are its contents - a sizable fortune in Spanish gold.”

Eleanor smiled meaningfully at Rogers who flicked his eyes in Eleanor’s direction and grinned. He dropped his hands and sighed in relief. “Thank you, Captain. The Commodore will take control of the structure and ready the gold for transport to Havana.”

As Hornigold was about to leave the great hall, Eleanor called after him. “Wait.” Hornigold halted, his back turned to her. “Any news from the fort as to Captain Rackham's whereabouts?”

Captain Hornigold sniffed and turned. “I'm told he and Anne Bonny fled before our arrival.” He made a point of it to answer her question to Woodes, hardly acknowledging her presence. “Their whereabouts are unknown.”

Eleanor frowned. Anne and Jack had fetched the gold and had been with Charles Vane inside Fort Nassau until the explosion. Charles was a trained and tactical pirate in battle, conquering forts and ships, but Rackham was the better man in coming up with schemes, usually ones that upset the plans of others. And she liked it not that both Jack Rackham and Anne Bonny had disappeared.

Rogers looked baffled by her question. “Why?”

Eleanor raised her eyebrows expressively and inclined her head, realizing Rogers did truly need her. "Spain may be appeased, but the street is still an open question. If you want me to help you play that game, I need to know where all the players are." Eleanor knew Rogers was no fool, a smart man, a tactician. But he relied too much on the belief that Charles or Rackham were reasonable men who knew when they had lost. __Most men would, but Charles and Rackham are not most men.__

“I see,” Rogers said quite stumped. “And when do you presume this game begins?”

“It already has,” Eleanor chided him. She walked off to the west wing where the governor's manservant, Dyson, oversaw the installment of the dinner hall. “You want to have the dinner hall, here, in the west wing?”

“Of course. In England –“

“We are not in England, but the West Indies,” she corrected him. “It is always hot, sunny and half of the year so sticky because of humidity that you wish for an English spring instead. Move the dining room and the salon to the east wing, overlooking the garden. There will only be sun on the windows in the morning, so that the rooms with the help of the garden have time to cool off.”

“Yes, Miss,” said the Englishman. “So, you want the dining hall in the room with the garden door?”

Eleanor shook her head. “No. That should be the salon. Nobody wants bugs in their food.”

“Bugs,” muttered the man, shuddering.  “And the breakfast parlor in the west wing?”

Eleanor smiled. “No. The dining hall will serve for both. But you can arrange a sitting room here, and extra offices there.”

Rogers entered what was to be the sitting room. “Ah, here you are.” He stopped and frowned as he saw the men carrying out furniture. “Why are they moving everything out?”

“Different climate, different layout of the rooms.”

Rogers smiled. “You know best. As long as I can find my way.” But then his countenance turned serious. “About the street game. I want to announce and name my council later today, as soon as everything is settled here. But I assume by your earlier remark that these game players might try to sabotage my efforts to be a friend to Nassau, like say if they are not part of my council.”

 _He is a fast learner._ “Nassau has been a world where strength makes might - the fiercest fighter, the strongest crew, the fastest ship with the most guns.”

“Or the biggest fleet that can fence the goods.”

“That too.” Eleanor lowered her eyes. “People here are used to respect strength, and they are the ones who control the street’s opinion.”

“And who would those game players be?”

Rackham’s and Anne’s partner had been Max, and since those two had formed an alliance with Charles and Flint, after taking the Urca gold, it could only mean that Max gained even more street credibility. “That would be Max.”

Rogers raised his eyebrows. “The brothel madam?” He walked towards the window looking out onto the market square, leaning his arm against the wall. “I cannot be seen at a brothel.”

Eleanor strolled towards him. “No, but I can.”

The governor furrowed his brow. “She is an enemy of yours, is she not?”

“We certainly did not part in the best of ways, no.”

He turned his head and looked at her. “What would the street say if Eleanor Guthrie, who used to run the island, is seen visiting her enemy's brothel?” Rogers shook his head, and said gently. “That would not do either. They would either think you are there to settle personal bills or to betray me.”

“There is nobody else but me who can approach her,” she whispered to him as he looked out of the window again. “What if it is clear to the street that I go there in an official capacity? As your envoy?”

“Hmmm.” Rogers stepped away from the window and looked at her from a distance. His eyes trailed her dress, her hair, as if she was being inspected like a soldier. “In the company of a force of physical strength.” Rogers nodded. “Yes, go there with an escort of regulars. That would make it an official visit from the new government, without compromising you or myself. And let that be the first official sighting of your return as a voice of authority and strength.”

It was the opposite image than the one of their arrival, and yet, she knew it would have Rogers' intended effect. Eleanor realized then that his talent in the game was that of appearance. It was not so much deceptive in that he pretended to be someone he was not, or faked his intentions, but that he only revealed parts about himself he deemed suitable for the occasion. And in that sort of game she was his pupil.

A clerk stepped in the sitting room with papers in hand. “Sir, here are the documents you had me draft for you.”

Rogers accepted the papers, read them and returned them to the clerk. “Good.” To Eleanor he explained, “Inauguration papers to sign in the council.” He took a few steps towards her. “I trust that you can set aside the past between yourself and Max, as much as you did with Captain Hornigold. I want her and the street as my friend and show her it is in her best interest to be my friend as well.”

Eleanor folded her hands in front of her and met his blue eyes that shone with concern. “I understand.” And yet, only now did she fully grasp that she was about to confront a woman she had complicated feelings for. It would not make her self-appointed task for him any easier.

Rogers flicked his fingers at the clerk. “Go have someone fetch some outdoor boots for Miss Guthrie – a lady’s boots, size four.”

Once Rogers had six redcoats rounded up for her and boots, she set out for Max's brothel. The effect of redcoats marching down the street was immediate. While there had been soldiers about, guarding the tavern where pirates could sign their pardon or patrolling the beaches and street, this was the first armed escort they witnessed. People stopped whatever they were doing and tried to glimpse who was that important to have that show of force.

“It’s the governor,” said the first who saw the redcoats coming. All were curious to have a glimpse of him. “Where is he going?”

When the escort came closer, they saw no man in official attire. In fact, they did not see a man at all. At the heart of the escort, walked a woman with blonde, flowing hair in a stylish red dress – one they all knew. They all stared at her, speechless. Then they looked at one another in a manner that spoke volumes. There had been rumors uttered by some that Eleanor Guthrie was on board the governor's ship, but that had been dismissed or laughed away. Captain Hornigold had made no mention of her, and he captured her after all. But there she walked, returned from the dead, with six redcoats pushing and ordering people to make way, more powerful than she was ever before. How Eleanor could be living and be here was a baffling mystery. They had celebrated her capture, laughed at the news of her conviction, and feasted her anticipated death. Not one of those who had done so though, wished her to ever get a whiff of it. So, they stepped, jumped or stumbled aside hastily. Some took of their hats and bowed their head, mumbling, "Beg pardon, Miss Guthrie." But all sighed in relief when she passed them by without ever looking at them.

“Move aside! Coming through!” the redcoats shouted, as Eleanor tried to get through the inn’s doorway.

“You can wait here,” she told them and stepped inside, looking about her.

The women downstairs were gobsmacked. Only one girl seated close by, and apparently new to Nassau not to have known Eleanor, got up from her chair and welcomed her. “May I help you, miss? Are you looking for someone?” The girl was young with pretty blonde hair, not unlike her own.

“I wish to see the owner of this establishment – Max.”

“Max? Oh she has her office opposite the street. At the tavern.”

“The tavern?” said Eleanor darkly. _The tavern! My tavern!_ _My father’s tavern!_ _That false bitch!_ The other whores pretended to be deaf, looked away and held a muted conversation.

“Yes, the tavern that used to be owned by that dictating Eleanor Guthrie before they hanged her. You know, where they performed a play about it and she received the kiss of death.” One of the whores got up from her chair, eyes wide. She swerved around to make her escape up the stairs to her room. Others followed her example, clearing the bar area.

“I _am_ Eleanor Guthrie,” she said, dryly.

“Oops,” the girl giggled. “Beg pardon, Miss.” _New and stupid_ , thought Eleanor. _A fool._

One of Max’s more experienced whores, called out to the girl, “Georgia, can you please help me out with my sash?” She gave Eleanor a curt nod and a polite smile.

Eleanor whirled around and crossed the street. _How dare Max take it from me!_ She had expected Mr. Frasier to be running it, or somebody, somebody else than Max  - _anybody I would have found acceptable, even Charles, but Max of all people!_ _She had a foul play in my tavern to mock my trial and celebrate my death?_ Eleanor felt sick for a moment, as bile rose with the cold rage. Max had spit and danced on Eleanor’s presumed grave. For the first time, Eleanor considered the possibility that Max was the traitor who had informed Captain Hornigold of her whereabouts. _Was it Max who put me bound to sea?_ Max’s greed had shocked her when she learned of Max’s plan to send Rackham to fetch the Urca gold. This went far beyond greed though. As she now looked back on it all, it seemed that Max had plotted against her since... _since Ned Low._ _Was this what Max was after from the start – to take my business, have my rightful position and see me dead?  Was Max this perfidious? Whatever did I do to her that she hates me so? Not love her the same way that Max claimed to love me? Or had even that been a feign?_ Eleanor had loved Max, cared for her the most, but loved Nassau more. _Oh, how blind I was! Too trusting, unlimited, even until the very end. What a foul plot!_ Max had not even dare to set a bloody mark on the business, but had it painted with fairer colors.

Anybody on the street who had lingered to see whom Eleanor Guthrie had business with could see that she was a on a war path. They expected fireworks, and now that it was clear where and for whom Eleanor's lightning would strike, they felt safe enough to mill around her escort and follow her to the entrance of the tavern, for at least it would not be them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Virtuous WIfe" or "Good Luck at Last" suite (Henry Purcell): the tune in the dream and Eleanor hums is the "slow air" of that suite (melancholic). I sought a baroque composition that could fit Bear's musical piece of 3x07 scene. Purcell was a renowned English composer, befit the national feelings of England raising the flag on the island. Psyche is the Virtuous Wife to Cupid (dream) and "Good Luck at Last" foreshadows Rogers' mood in the coming chapters. Link: https://youtu.be/0zY8ZCurGNg?t=4m29s
> 
> Persuasion (Jane Austen): Captain Wenthworth helps Anne Elliot into a carriage. The touch is like a burn. A good visual of that is the movie with Cyaran Hinds as Wentworth (early 90s).
> 
> Twelfth Night: Lilywhite's remark about good hangings preventing bad marriages quotes the fool to Olivia's chambermaid Maria. Hence, the same name for the woman in the scene, who calls Lilywhite mad, a fool and chastices him on his drinking like the play-Maria chastices Sir Toby Belch (Olivia's uncle). Eleanor takes on the actual role of the messenger in Rogers' service to woo the 'street' and Max, like Viola does for Orsino with Olivia. Olivia falls in love with Viola (dressed as Cessario) and Max has a love interest in Eleanor.
> 
> The Tempest: The people on the street are contrite for their feasting her death, like Alonso and Prospero's usurping brother and their retinue submit themselves to Prospero and wish to make amends. Together Eleanor and Rogers take up Prospero's role by pardoning and forgiving everyone, except Caliban who plots to kill Prospero the father and take Miranda for himself. When Eleanor discovers Max owns her business, her thoughts allude to Prospero's story about his brother's betrayal to become the duke of Milan, and yet not daring to put his own red mark on it. Prospero was set onto a boat to die (no rigging, leaky, even the rats jumped aboard), as was Eleanor.


	11. The Chairwoman

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eleanor confronts Max, who still counts on her former allies to affirm her power over the street, and has not yet fully let the changed reality sink in. Max experiences how fickle the street can be. Meanwhile Eleanor comes to terms with the cards she's been dealt and witnesses a secret in the garden. This chapter includes a few thoughts from Max as well.

“Move aside! Coming through!” the redcoats shouted as they were want to do. “Step aside.”

Eyes ablaze, Eleanor stepped through the tavern's door, searching for Max, and down into the gallery. Pirates filed in line before a desk where two of the governor’s officials prepared their pardon papers. The violin player stopped playing. Customers gaped at her, then ducked their heads. Everybody fell silent. Max rose from her chair in the back of the bar, mouth agape and blinking nervously. Eleanor stared at her with indignation, saying nothing, while Max turned a paler shade that not even her tawny bronze skin could hide. Slowly, Eleanor walked towards Max. 

“Jesus Christ, how the hell is it possible that she’s not dead?” mumbled one of the former pirates seated behind a mug of ale.

“Shut up!" another elbowed him. "If the king and governor can pardon the likes of us, then they sure can pardon the likes of her. See those redcoats? Don’t want any trouble with them.”

Max stammered a greeting and then recovered enough to say, “We will talk in my – the office.”

Featherstone and Max’s friend Idelle sat at the table where Max had been seated. Featherstone’s cheeks colored red and he seemed to shrink under her eye, but Idelle? Well, Idelle was the sole person who met Eleanor’s eyes fair and square - she lifted her chin at Eleanor with a dark, daring expression on her face. But neither were important to Eleanor, and she paid no further mind to them. Max attempted to regain her composure by adjusting her petticoat, and stiffly walked towards Eleanor’s former office.

The dusty smell mixed with the wafts of foodstalls from the street brought back memories - not just short little flashes in her mind, but as if her skin, her body had its own recollections of senses. _It is home, my home_. But then Eleanor noticed the desk had been moved to another location, while a meeting table stood in what used to be her bedroom. Her favorite picture was taken down and replaced with something else. There lay another carpet. It all felt wrong all of sudden. It did not feel hers at all.

Still somewhat shaken, Max walked round the desk and seated herself in Eleanor’s old chair in which Eleanor had lorded over Nassau. It was a beautifully decorated chair of ebony, its back decorated with inlaid lapis lazuli and ivory figures that always reminded Eleanor of Grecian characters - a man and a woman meeting one another. As beautiful as it looked, it also sat uncomfortable and was immensely lonely. She had sacrificed so many people and relations in order to keep that seat. Max attempted to appear anything but uncomfortable, but her hesitating voice, her need to stroke her own hands as if washing them informed Eleanor that Max was nervous, and not just because of the chair. While it gave Eleanor some measure of pleasure to see Max squirm under her silent, reproachful stare, it was just another reminder that she did not wish to trade with Max’s place for all of the Urca gold.

Eleanor’s continued silence forced the need in Max to explain herself, say something. “When weeks went by with no news of your sentence having been carried out, I assumed an arrangement had been reached to carry it out privately or a deal had been brokered to commute your execution to a long prison stay. I suppose I should have seen this, that somehow your grip on this place would be too strong to be denied by a king, his laws, or even your death.”

Eleanor did not wish her chair back, not even within the confinement of legitimate commerce. That chair had been like a prison cell that had never allowed her to be anything but an austere woman of power.   _Max can have it_ , Eleanor thought - _the street, the tavern, the chair, the desk, the business, the solitude, the betrayals, everything. Max wanted it, so now let Max be its prisoner._

While she strolled towards the desk, Eleanor gestured the windows with her eyes. “In the winter, the sun drives hard through those windows. You'll be blinded there lest you keep them shuttered all day long.” Eleanor turned her head to indicate the old location of the desk. “I had the desk where it was for a reason, though I suppose you haven't been here long enough to know how to sit in that chair.” She sat down gracefully, opposite of Max, in one of the chairs that used to be the seat of the men who wanted something of her. And yet, strangely enough, Eleanor felt that she had more power in the supplicant’s seat than in the one Max sat.

Looking down at her hands, Max fidgeted with her fingers. “So here you are.” Max looked up at her with a smile. “And I do not imagine you came to decorate.”

She chuckled, more to herself than Max. She looked sideways at the carpet. “The governor is going to announce today the formation of a governing council.” Eleanor stared at Max. “Twelve seats. Six filled from his ranks, six filled from merchants native to the island. It will signal the governor's clear intent to give the people of New Providence Island a meaningful say in their own futures, and we would like you to bless it.”

“I'm sorry. Are you offering me a seat?”

“No,” Eleanor replied coldly. “The six names have already been chosen, and yours is not among them.”

Max smiled in that typical way when she was offended. She rose from her chair. “I own title to more of the street than you ever did.” She came to stand beside Eleanor. “I earn as much legitimate income as you ever did.” She walked through the office, the salon, as if fully claiming it as her own, until she stood behind Eleanor. “I have no enemies and strong friends. I'm the one they all come to here to make peace between them when no one else can.”

 _Foolish woman_ , thought Eleanor. _Which strong friends?_ _Pirates who either took the pardon and are now England’s subjects, or sailed off to miserable Ocracoke._ Even Rackham and Anne had left her. “You are a pirate.”

“Excuse me?”

Eleanor sniggered in disbelief at Max's incredulity. She turned on the seat to look at Max standing behind her. “The first thing he asked me to do was to identify pirate ringleaders on the island - organizers.”

“And you named me?” whispered Max, leaning on the back of a salon chair. “Undermined my reputation with him before he –“

Max’s accusing tone, made Eleanor rise. “You abetted the practice,” Eleanor interrupted Max. “You signed articles, for Christ's sakes! You held a share in an active crew.” _What had Max believed would happen? Was Max so blind by the lies she told herself to sleep at night?_

“What I have done so thoroughly pales in comparison to what you did before me?” Max asked angrily.

“I lost everything for it,” whispered Eleanor. How Max could even compare herself to her was beyond Eleanor. Max had not been dragged to England. Max had not been convicted to a noose. And Max had never repented. “I lost everything! Remember that when you sit in that chair.”

But Max was still Max, haughty and defensive. “You were wise to come to me. If I remain silent about this council or, worse yet, oppose its formation, it will sow all manner of mistrust and apprehension amongst my colleagues. For if I can be so easily discarded, who next?”

Max’s self-delusions of grandeur when there was an English governor with the royal navy and redcoats behind him living at the other side of town, only saddened Eleanor. It saddened her that Max could not see beyond the petty, still. _I am not here to make war with her,_ Eleanor reminded herself _. Nor to take back what was once mine, or make her pay for what she took. I am here to ensure peace. Hand her the olive!_ Softly, she said, “Which is why you won't remain silent.”

Max lifted her chin at Eleanor. “Really? Why?”

“Because this is important to him, that the street understands that his intentions are genuine and he means to be a friend. If you undermine that, he can make life very difficult for you.”

Max blinked, as if she had been given a blow, but clung to her pride still. “You should know people do not speak to me that way anymore.”

It was not truly the threat that struck Max so. It had been the way Eleanor talked of the governor. Max had never seen this man. He had actually only stepped foot on the island just a few hours ago. He was a stranger to Max. But when Eleanor talked about the governor it was evident he was no stranger to her. Governor Rogers was not the ‘governor’ to Eleanor. Governor Rogers was _him_ and _he_ in Eleanor’s speech. It was this implied familiarity that hurt Max more than she had expected it could. More, Eleanor’s way and responses intuitively told Max that she was insignificant in Eleanor’s eyes and perhaps always had been. There was nothing more mortifying than the realization that the one Max never stopped desiring barely thought of her, not even after Max took everything from her.

“Be smart,” said Eleanor as if to a child. She turned and walked towards the door.

“Was I on that list?” Max called out to her. Eleanor halted mid-step, frowned and turned to meet Max’s eye. “That night before you were taken, when you made the first of your lists of those you wanted to see dead Mr. Stayton, Mr. Atz, Mr. Featherstone, Jack, Anne. Was I on that list?”

“No,” Eleanor said in a low voice. Eleanor had not named Max herself as a target. Without a crew, Max would have been insignificant. “The night I was taken, did you inform Hornigold where he could find me?”

Max shook her head, lowered her eyes. “No,” she said with a tremor in her voice.

Eleanor was unconvinced by Max’s reply, but she guessed she would never know, and if she could work with Captain Hornigold after he captured her, she could also work with Max for dooming herself to that unforgiving chair.

As Eleanor walked back to the governor’s mansion with her escort, she thought perhaps for the first time of the Max she once knew, the new whore who had been so eager to have her love. It had been Mrs. Mapleton who urged Eleanor to pay for the unique service of one of the newer girls in the brothel to satisfy her sexually after she ceased her relationship with Vane.

“In such an office,” Mrs. Mapleton had said, “anyone who tends to your needs is going to ask for more in return than they give. But if you do not have these needs met, you will never survive the experience. Best to make sure that whomever you choose to have tend to you all you owe them is a fee. There’s this new girl, exotic looking, from Haiti. She has no connections here and does not know Nassau really.”

But as it turned out, even the woman of whom Eleanor believed she owed no more than a fee, wanted more of her than she could give. Eleanor had cared deeply for Max, not wanting to see her harmed, not even when she learned of Max conspiring with Rackham to sabotage Eleanor by reaping the Spanish gold. But had it ever been more than that? Eleanor had been taken by surprise when Max pleaded with her to start a new life somewhere else with the pearls. That had never been an option for Eleanor. She wanted to say yes, but she could not leave Nassau, had until then never imagined living the rest of her life out with Max. Max was novel and it was satisfying, but Eleanor's instinctive inclination leaned towards men. Many a time, Eleanor could not even begin to enjoy Max’s kisses, strokes and fingers without closing her eyes and imagining it was Charles fucking her instead. It was the idea of a man’s body and what he would do with it to her that got her horny – his tongue in her mouth, his stubble charring her chin, the weight of his chest on top of her, and his proud cock thrusting into her. And at present, Eleanor was not thinking of Charles.

All flustered, Eleanor arrived back at the governor’s mansion and realized she was not in any state to meet Rogers just now. So, she intended to check on the progress of furnishing the east wing, when Rogers saw her appear in the hallway from the assembly room and left Major Andrews standing by himself. He rushed to her and asked, “How did it go?”

Eleanor heaved a deep breath and looked away from him. “Beg your pardon, but I – I…“

“Are you well?” Rogers asked with great concern.

“I am,” she said in a high-pitched voice. She told herself to get her act together. “I am. Really, I am,” she reassured him. “It was just a very emotional confrontation. I would like a moment to come to myself again.”

Puzzled, Rogers studied her. “Yes, absolutely,” he said, doubtful. “I’ll have Mrs. Hudson show you your apartments if you’d like.”

“Thank you.”

“But do not take too long, for we have a meeting about the bay’s defense and repairing Fort Nassau. I would like to know your news from the street before that meeting.” He smiled to her. “When you are ready, you can find me in the garden.”

Upstairs, she discovered that Rogers had designated the second largest apartment to her, with a parlor and a bedroom. It was situated in the east wing, on the south-east side, with the windows overlooking the small bewildered garden. “This is much too rich,” said Eleanor. Her office at the tavern had been grand enough, but her bedroom used to be a dark alcove with red drapings and barred gate. She would have chosen a less bigger apartment for herself. An apartment such as this one was intended for the governor’s wife. If it were not clear before that his wife would never live in Nassau, it was now.

 “Do not worry over the expense, Miss Guthrie,” said Mrs. Hudson. “The Lord Governor had the surveyor search the rooms for any piece of furniture the pirates had left undamaged. He said that you were probably the only one who would not mind sleeping in a pirate’s bed.”

Eleanor gaped at Mrs. Hudson. “What about the governor’s apartment? Does he not need salon chairs, a wardrobe and bedstead?”

“Oh, that is taken care of. Except for the bed there.” Mrs. Hudson pointed at the wooden bedstead. “He does not mind leftover furniture either. He designated it to be yours, because his bed was the sole piece he brought with him from London. His house in London was a rented one, and he ended his lease with the owners.” Eleanor went to the bed and sat down on the straw and feather mattress. If she forgot for a moment that Rackham had slept in it, it was a perfectly good bed.  Mrs. Hudson indicated the empty top of the bedstead. “I’m afraid I could not salvage the draperies. They were severely dusted and torn.” Mrs. Hudson walked to a cabinet. On its top stood a basin and large pitcher. The chambermaid poured water in the basin for Eleanor. “If you wish you can show me tomorrow where I can find fabrics in Nassau to make you new ones, and you might like to come to pick those you prefer.” Then she walked to the large wardrobe, opened it and showed Eleanor how she had arranged Eleanor’s clothes in it. “Well, I shall leave you now to yourself for a moment.” Mrs. Hudson retreated towards the door. “If you require me, I am at the first servant room down the hall, south of this wing.”

Eleanor went to the washing stand and splashed the water in her face and her neck. Attached to the cabinet was a large oval, cracked mirror framed in wood. Eleanor adjusted it to such an angle that the crack did not interfere with her reflection. It was the first time she could actually see herself clearly in contrast to how she must have looked when she first emerged from her prison cell in London. Clearly the many hours on the _Delicia’s_ _deck_ , had given her a healthy tan. Her blonde hair had lightened and softened. Her mother’s green blue eyes looked back at her, soft and glistening. And her breasts truly filled her bodice.

She noticed a little jewelry box with inlaid mother-of-pearl on the cabinet. She opened it, and found it empty. A few glass bottles could serve as perfume holders, but except for one with leftover rosewater, they too were empty. She turned around to survey the bedroom. It had a genuine bathtub and an exotic dressing screen. Eleanor felt positively sensual.

She walked over to the window to look at the garden. It was not a large one in comparison to what she knew to be the typical parks of England that went with a mansion the size of the governor’s. It used to be larger, but now at least half had been built on. Still, it was a small oasis in the heart of Nassau, with full grown fruit trees such as mango, papaya, lime and bananas, an imported avocado tree, but also palms, ferns, birds of paradise flowers and orchids and when Eleanor opened the window she could smell a sweet, heady fragrance of ripe fruit.

She noticed Rogers standing under the mango tree, pointing with a cane where the servant on the ladder could pick a mango for him. He sat down on the garden bench nearby, peeled and cut the sticky fruit with a knife. Fearful that he would notice her, she moved slightly away from the window, behind the curtain and watched him as he tried a piece. His face lit up with delight. When he finished it, he felt his pocket for a handkerchief, seemed to have found none, looked about, shrugged his shoulder and licked the juice from his fingers. He seemed completely oblivious that someone had seen it all.

Eventually, Eleanor went downstairs and joined him. She was not entirely unable to suppress her smile, recalling the fruit scene. As soon as he saw her, Rogers stood and beamed at her. “My goodness, I just had a taste of heaven, I think. Let me live here forever. But if ever I am forced to choose another career, I will grow mango trees to make it paradise." He chuckled. "What am I saying. With such a temperate, tender climate, the air breathing so sweetly on us, fruit to live on, lusciously green, it is paradise." He gestured with his knife to the mango tree. "If you want one, I will have the servant pick one for you.”

“Thank you, but no. Maybe later, when I have a napkin,” Eleanor smirked. “They are sweet and juicy, but sticky.” Rogers squinted at her and she pointed at her window. “My apartments look out onto the garden. I could not help but notice your predicament.”

Rogers grimaced embarrassed. “Hmm, well.” He coughed. “If you wish furniture moved or rearranged you can just tell the surveyor.”

“No,” she blurted, and then stared at her hands, glowing. “It’s perfect.” Eleanor had never felt like she needed all the frills of a lady’s parlor, but now that she had one, she wanted nothing changed.  “And you were correct – I don’t mind sleeping in a pirate’s bed.”

Rogers coughed again. “Um, shall we walk?” He already took several strides, his hands behind his back, and when Eleanor joined his side, he was all business again. “So, what news from the street? ”

“Max expects a seat on the council.”

Rogers chuckled at that. “A brothel madam having a seat on the council? I might just as well put a quartermaster and former pirate captain on my council.”

“She is more than a brothel madam now though,” urged Eleanor. “Max bought the shares of my former partners and took possession of the tavern. She has acquired considerable influence.”

Rogers stopped walking. “Max took your business?” There was an edge in his voice that she had not expected to hear.  “I understand now why you needed some moment alone. That must not have been an easy confrontation.”

Eleanor furrowed her brow and looked at her feet. “It was painful,” she muttered. “To learn of this.” Learning about the mock trial trial gutted her the most. But Eleanor refrained from mentioning that detail to him. It would do him no good if he would get angry with Max over this. “But I think that it went better than expected, considering the circumstances.”

“It had a positive conclusion then?” Rogers turned and strolled the other way again in the garden. He stopped at a shrub of yellow and orange flowers of birds of paradise. “Are these poisonous?” Eleanor shook her head, and he tapped his finger against the flower.

“I would not exactly say positive.” Eleanor weighed her words. “Max has gone through great lengths to be where she is now, and she is very reluctant to recognize that the Nassau of yesterday is not the Nassau of today. She is not as dangerous as she believes herself to be, but she can make your governance difficult, delay the progress.”

Rogers turned his head to look at her when she spoke. It was evident to him that Eleanor held back on much of the actual painful confrontation. But perhaps he did not need to know the details. He knew enough of his own feelings for her by now to admit that he was not entirely objective anymore regarding people who aimed to antagonize Eleanor.  “Truthfully, I do not like the woman so far from the little I have heard.” He sighed. “But I will take your opinion on the matter in consideration, and see whether I can show her some recognition, without giving her a seat on the council.”

Eleanor’s visit to Max had a far more productive result than Eleanor anticipated. She had left Max shaking with terror. Not only had Max not expected to see Eleanor ever again, least of all had she expected Eleanor to be as she was now. It scared her even more than the murder-plotting Eleanor she had last seen months ago. The moment that Eleanor stepped through the tavern's door, alive, Max expected Eleanor to rage, to threaten her, to promise her that she would reclaim her chair and business. But Max had seen pity in Eleanor’s eyes, had heard it in her voice. It mortified Max.

Featherstone knocked on her door and entered her office together with Idelle. “Just checking whether Eleanor did not slit your throat or something.”

Max shook her head. “No.”

“It was surprisingly quiet in here,” said Idelle. “There’s a crowd outside, curious about you.”

Max smiled, feeling strengthened at the idea of such support, but when she stepped outside to reassure the street that she was alive and well, she realized she just had made a mistake. They were not there in support of her, but for the spectacle they had expected. They all knew Eleanor was in some official position with the governor and had seen her come and go as such without drama. Many turned away without giving Max another look. Customers nodded shyly and left.

When Max’s errand boy returned an hour later to report the word out on the street, reality finally hit Max. It was said that Eleanor had returned more powerful than ever, as the governor’s senior advisor. And Max? Well that was the woman who had stolen Eleanor’s business after her father’s death, like a vulture, and even had some whores put on some macabre play. If a man wanted a job, like say repair Fort Nassau, it was probably best to stay away from her altogether. The governor seemed a reasonable man, if you did not cross him or his senior advisor. Vane had killed Eleanor’s father, and see where that had gotten him - he fled with his tail between his legs like a thief in the night. Jack and Anne were gone as well. Without partners, without a crew and with Eleanor against her, it would only be a matter of time, before the governor would come down on Max. Within two hours of Eleanor’s visit, Max was just a brothel madam and the owner of a tavern of little consequence. But Max had prepared herself for this. She simply had not factored Eleanor’s existence into it. _What had Eleanor said?_ That she lost everything because of her past, while Max tried to keep all her ill gotten gain as a pirate and expected to be rewarded for it with a council seat. _I am smarter than you think, Eleanor, and I am willing to give up a lot, and make him an offer he cannot refuse_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Eleanor-Max (update in light of 4x04): S1 Eleanor's explanation on why she broke with Vane + S3 Mrs. Mapleton's "advice" gives a picture of "unrequieted love" for Max. I think Eleanor has a hetero preference, because she can jump Vane's bones lustfully and takes initiative towards him physically (as she does with Rogers) whereas Max must take initiave towards Eleanor, and even then it needs coaxing. However, love also has more to do with bonding than merely gender preference. People can gain sexual satisfaction through being emotionally bonded to another person, and thus go beyond their original leanings. Or possibly, Eleanor simply bonds easier with men than she does with women. Max is the exception. But after they break, Eleanor never shows an inclination to Max in a sexual manner again, nor to other women, as well as fails to comprehend how deep Max's feelings (and pain) went. Her 4x04 explanation of how she wanted to say yes, but couldn't adds to the idea that she loved Max, but not enough to risk everything for it. She was taken completely by surprise that Max considered Eleanor a for-life partner, and when asked to commit she simply cannot. She loves, but not enough. In that way Maxanor and Eleanor-Vane are each other's reverse mirrors. Eleanor loves them, but not enough to self-sacrifice or commit, but where Eleanor bonds with Vane out of lust, Eleanor is sexually attracted to Max born out of a bond. And in that way Eleanor herself is a reverse mirror to Flint, except that I think Flint leans more to a sexual preference for men, but can be sexually satisfied with a woman he bonds with. 
> 
> Tempest:  
> parallel - Eleanor chooses Rogers' service and let's go of her "office" and business once held by her father (her legacy). Prospero often calls his stolen dukedom of Milan and the island his legacy for his daughter Miranda. Initially, it seems that Miranda and Ferdinand will remain on the island, but Miranda ends up ruling Naples by Ferdinand's side, not her father's Milan, nor his refuge island. 
> 
> reference - Rogers expresses his delight like Ferdinand who claims he wishes to live forever on Prospero's island and make it paradise (Act 4, scene 1). He describes the island like Alonso's companions (King of Naples, father of Ferdinand) describe Prospero's island (in Act 2, scene 1) when they do favoribly. 
> 
> Paradise Lost: Rogers calls it paradise, talks of growing trees. There is a reversal because Rogers eats the fruit in a manner he does not wish anyone else to have seen (inappropriate). He offers it to Eleanor who refuses the fruit and implies she knows what he did. Another reversal is that Rogers arrives in "paradise", not ousted from it. It becomes a Paradise Found, with the inherent risk of losing it.


	12. The Treasure

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Max makes a proposition to Rogers in order to secure a seat in the council. Her dazzling investment arrives at night. Eleanor learns the story behind Rogers' scar. Her natural reaction to it changes everything for Rogers. Mrs. Hudson confesses to her treason and reveals that Rogers does not have all of the Urca gold in his possession to guarantee Nassau's safety. Eleanor takes charge of her and thinks she knows who has the missing cache.

At the security meeting, Major Andrews and the younger Major Rollins reported how two patrolling regulars had not reported back and were found shot dead at a neighboring beach, alongside with the bodies of several escaped slaves.

“Didn’t the pirates use slaves to rebuild Fort Nassau?” asked Rogers.

“Captain Hornigold says they did, yes," said Major Andrew stiffly. "But they managed to free themselves during the blast yesterday.”

Eleanor was surprised to learn that Charles had allowed slaves to be used to repair Fort Nassau. When pirates needed the money, they sold slaves just as much as the Spanish and the English did. Only, if they needed men for their crew or votes, they would free them, let them sign the articles and give them the same share as any other pirate. But not Charles. Being an escaped slave himself, Charles had always freed them. He had the burn mark on his chest as an everlasting reminder to it. Now it turned out that Charles did not even hold to that last principle. _Why are you surprised_ , Eleanor told herself. _He did not care about the freedom of women either, keeping Max in bondage to be raped, holding Abigail hostage_. _So, why should you be surprised he used people of color as slaves?_

“Well it appears, Major, the mystery is solved then,” said Rogers. “Your two men came upon these escaped slaves during their patrol last night, and they were killed in action, unfortunately.”

“Yes, Lord Governor," agreed Rollins. "With the tide of course we could find no marks, but we assume that the surviving slaves escaped with skiffs.”

Rogers smiled sympathetically. “Thank you. My sympathies for your men who were killed for doing their duty.”

“It’s a pity those slaves are gone,” said one of his merchant advisors, a Mr. Higgins. “We could have used them to rebuild the fort. It would have cost us nothing.”

 “We have a whole town full of men who are now out of a job,” said Rogers. The gathered men chuckled. “And men who have nothing else to do but drink all day long will soon find a reason to cause trouble. Send word out onto the street that we seek strong men to repair Fort Nassau _for wages_.”

 “But shouldn't we go after the escaped slaves, my lord?” Mr. Higgins insisted.

“The Bahamas are an archipelago of dozens of small islands, uninhabited, jungle, wild terrain," Eleanor volunteered. "A handful of maroons truly are not worth our trouble and manpower to seek a needle in a haystack, not when we need it all to secure the beaches. It will be more expensive to find them, than to hire the unemployed pardoned pirates.”

“There you have your answer, Mr. Higgins,” Rogers smiled at the baffled man. The mere flick of Rogers' eyes towards Eleanor signaled his gratitude for her intervention on this matter. Rogers leaned onto the large assembly table and surveyed one of the maps. “Now, about that security –“

“My lord,” a female voice cried with a French accent from the hallway. The men looked up and the governor turned. In the hallway, at the entrance of the assembly hall stood a vision of graceful Max in her rich green silk, like a countess who was at liberty to choose and go whatever and wherever she liked. Her back straight and chin high, she threw her most charming smile at Rogers. “I think you know who I am. May we have a word in _private_ , please?”

Rogers looked at the papers in his hands, deliberated for a moment, and then dropped them on the table without a word. He inclined his head in a slow nod and extended his arm as a gesture for her to follow him. Eleanor stared at Max as Max followed Rogers to the stairway. _What is she up to now?_ It had not escaped Eleanor’s notice that Max had magnified her sensuality. Glowering at Max, she thought, _if Max thinks that private means without me even being there, she is very much mistaken_. Eleanor automatically stepped away from the assembled men, turned and fell in step with Max to follow Rogers to his private office of his apartment. Max gave her a teasing smile.

Rogers’ apartments with a view on the market square spanned almost all of the west wing – except for the neighboring room of his man servant. It even had a private corridor leading to his office, nearest to the stairs on the south-west. Rogers opened the door to his office, gestured Max to come inside and closed the door for Eleanor where they exchanged one meaningful look. The white blinds diffused the light of the afternoon sun, adding charm to the office of stucco walls, painted with a decorative natural background. He strode to his desk, but did not yet seat himself. Instead he leaned on the back of his chair. “You wished to see me in private, madam.” He gestured his head at the open door of the office that led into the neighboring chambers that spread as far as the north-west, though empty still as of yet. “This is private.”

Max looked from him to Eleanor and back to the governor. “With everything I have sacrificed to be a part of Nassau's future, please understand, I cannot endorse a version of that future in which I am still on the outside of it looking in.”

The governor glanced at Eleanor, moved his chair and slowly seated himself, legs wide and head skeptically laid sideways. He waved his hands up in the air. “You want a seat on the council.”

“You say you want to be a friend of Nassau,” Max said. “Well, I am a Nassau. You question whether I deserve this friendship. It is a fair thing to ask. So I suggest, like the longest lasting of friendships, the one that lasts to the grave, I substantiate my worthiness to enter into it with a _dowry_.” Slowly, Max approached the desk and with thumb and index finger laid down a giant sized black pearl. Rogers stared at it suspiciously and raised his eyes at Max with dismay. The sight of the black pearl that could be nothing else but a bribe distressed Eleanor to no end. “For obvious reasons, that is only a sample,” said Max. “There are several thousand more behind it, assuming we are able to reach an agreement here today.” She pointed her index finger to the floor repeatedly to underline the _today_.

 _Thousands?_ Just like Avery had once bribed Governor Trott with a share of his Mogul treasure, Max now attempted to bribe Rogers with a share of the Urca de Lima gold.

Grimacing, Rogers squinted at Max. “These are profits from running a _tavern_?”

“Jesus. It's from the Spanish gold!” Eleanor put her hands on her side and closed the distance between Max and herself. “Money you held out from the fort, your share.”

“Not as far as you know. Not as far as Spain knows,” Max said. She turned to address Rogers again. “As far as anyone knows, the entirety of the Spanish gold was captured today in the fort by your men.” Eleanor felt sick at hearing it. She had to sit down in a chair set against the wall, next to the cabinet. “And this? This comes from nowhere.” Max’s last words struck a chord with Rogers. He was listening. “That is its virtue. No covenants, no conditions. No history.” Rogers’ eyes wandered back to the giant black pearl winking at him in the diffused sunlight. “Just an unexpected investment from a loyal resident. An investment so substantial, I might add, it would dramatically, if not definitively, improve your prospects for success.”

Stoically, and yet with a slight hint of apprehension, Rogers asked Max, “What exactly would you want in exchange for this… _dowry_?”

“An end to this conversation.” Max glanced at Eleanor. “An end to questions about my past and a new beginning in which we all agree there is no history in this place anymore.” She straightened her shoulders and back, and whispered, “Only a future in which you and I are truly friends.”

Calculating and with a sly smile, Rogers watched the pearl, then Max. He rose slowly from his chair. “If you sacrifice _all_ of your pirate past, then this conversation is at an end.”

Max smiled pleased and inclined her head at Rogers and Eleanor. “My friends. Please, expect a delivery tonight.” She curtsied, turned around and left his office.

Shocked, Eleanor stared at him. “Why?”

Rogers walked around the desk, slowly picked up the pearl, rolled it between his thumb and finger, lifted the lid of a box and let it rest there. Finally, he looked at her. “For one, we cannot let her keep such a treasure for herself.” Eleanor opened her mouth, but closed it again. _He is right about that. Max can do all manner of mischief with that amount of wealth_. “And if she is willing to give it all up, rather than start a new obscure life somewhere else, then Nassau is more to her than a beach. With her network, a respectable tavern and influence, she would be one of the most logical candidates for the council.”

 _Was this what Max had understood when I said I lost everything?_ She whispered, “What will you do with it?”

This question startled him. “I don’t know, yet. Let us first see her _dowry_ secured, here.”

When they returned to the meeting downstairs, the men had already prepared proposals to raise security, the wages for the men repairing the fort, had drawn a list of the needed repairs and expansions for the extra guns that were being salvaged at the wreck of the _Willing Mind_. All that was further required was for the governor to approve of it.

As the men dispersed, Rogers gestured his clerk who held the official documents to invite and swear in the council. “The announcement for the new council is deferred for a day. I want you to prepare a new draft for another council member.”  He took the papers from the clerk, leafed through them and picked out one. “I have had news that Mr. Merlon is unable to take on such responsibilities at present. Miss Max of Nassau will take his place.” He ripped Mr. Merlon’s paper, and gave it back to the clerk with a smile. “Thank you.”

As dinner time drew near, and Rogers retired to his own apartments, while Eleanor went to hers. Mrs. Hudson had been nowhere to be seen since Max’s visit. Eleanor did not miss her shadow, which she had learned to ignore most of the time. As she looked at the garden’s shadows lengthening until the sun was behind the mansion, Eleanor wondered whether she might have been too harsh on her judgment of Max. Yes, Max had been armored in courtesy and arrogance while talking nonsensical poetry of marriage and dowry, but maybe Rogers was right. Max wanted and offered peace, giving up her ill begotten gains that had provoked Eleanor into wanting to assassinate Max’s crew all those months ago.

The sky darkened to a deep purple streaked with fiery red clouds. Eleanor could not actually see the sunset, but she would see the sun rise instead in the morning. She always had preferred dawn over dusk anyway. She wondered whether Rogers was staring out of his window to admire the sunset at that very moment. Before long, it would be so dark one barely could see anything outside, except if there was a full moon out. Crickets were roused already and chirped their song, while sun birds and hummingbirds used the last light to gather more nectar before turning in. The crickets’ chorus underlined the feeling of being home again, and a far better home than she could have predicted. _No more pirates. Max wants to be an ally. Nassau has a future. I have a future._ Eleanor smiled, for a moment, content.

The dinner was a most surprising tranquil event. The majors and their officers had been invited to a merchant’s dinner. The rest were on duty or in their barracks. Chamberlain was at the fort, having the gold guarded and the fort manned. Mr. Lardener had already departed for the inland to meet with the farmers, and Mr. Tortleby was scouring the beaches for lizards. Others, like Lieutenant Perkins, were room hunting. And so, it was just Rogers and Eleanor sharing dinner. Not even her shadow, Mrs. Hudson was present.

Rogers had their glasses filled with wine and raised his glass. “To a new home and a new Nassau.”

Eleanor whispered, “To a new life.”

He grinned. “In paradise, yes.” Rogers took up his knife and fork to attack his steak. “Not in my wildest dreams could I have foreseen such a first day here. Albeit the loss of the ship and damage to the Fort, we secured the Spanish treasury and the street.” He raised his fork, took a bite and chewed on his meat.

“How long will it take to get the gold on the ship for Havana?”

Rogers swallowed, took his glass of wine and drank. “The commodore hopes it will be done in three days time. If everything goes well and there are no delays then Spain will have their gold back by the end of next week, and we will all rest easy and be the safer for it.”

For dessert a platter of sliced fruit were brought in. “From the garden,” Rogers smirked. 

A servant in livery entered, approached Rogers and whispered something in his ear. Rogers raised his eyebrows in surprise, dabbed his mouth with his napkin and said, “Let him bring it to my office.” He met Eleanor’s eyes and nodded silently.

Eleanor recognized the hulk of a man with dark umber skin standing before Rogers’ desk as once having worked for her at the tavern - The brother of Eme’s friend, the one who could not speak. He stepped aside to reveal the huge box behind him on the table – the substantial dowry.

“Thank you,” said Rogers, staring at the trunk.

“I will show you out,” smiled Eleanor. She opened the door for him and said, “Does Eme still work at the tavern too?” The man nodded. “Good. Please send her my regards.” Eleanor wanted to offer Eme any assistance if she required it, but there was no reason to think Eme lacked for anything with Max.

Eleanor closed the door, turned and saw Rogers opening the box slowly. It was filled to the brim with velvety bags and boxes. Gently, Rogers lifted one of the jewelry bags out of the box, and spilled out its content – white pearls. He swallowed. Rubies poured out of another bag. He then lifted a little silver box and opened it. It was filled to the brim with lustrous white pearls. This was not just a small share. It was a treasury for a small island nation of its own – black pearls, white and pink, emeralds, rubies, even diamonds. It sparkled. It glittered. It winked. It allured. It mesmerized.

Eleanor walked from one side of the chest to the other, around Rogers and watched him as he stood there gazing, apprehensive as well as spellbound. “What are you thinking?”

Rogers was silent for a long while yet, but eventually said, without ever taking his eyes off the pearls, “At the end of every great achievement that has ever been, I imagine one looks back and is reminded of the one moment when good fortune reached out and gave the thing its blessing.” He heaved a deep breath. “I think this is the equivalent of five years' worth of tax revenue without an ounce of the resentment that traditionally comes with it.” Rogers glanced at her, but he was inadvertently drawn back to the sparkle of the stash of pearls and gems. “I've felt fortune's other hand so many times, the one that takes instead of gives, had it snatch away victories that by all rights should have been mine. That feeling I know too well and still bear its scars.”

Looking at the pearls herself, searching for its blessing, Eleanor could not feel it. She knew its beauty. She could see its seduction. But it did nothing for her. Perhaps she had seen too many gems, pearls and money pass through her own hands to be touched by pearl fever now. But the moment Rogers referred to his scar, Eleanor forgot all about the pearls. The bitterness and grief in his voice, as if it were a stain, touched her at a level that the pearls could not. She put her head slightly sideways, studying his profile. At this angle she could not see his scar at all, and he appeared truly handsome to her.

“But this,” Rogers sighed, oblivious. “This feels different.” He finally glanced at her and was startled by her spellbound eyes that admired him.

Seeing all of his face, including the scar, he looked even more beautiful to her. When she first laid eyes on him, in her prison cell, he had looked handsome enough, but only in the manner one could pass someone on the street and consider him easy on the eye. Clean shaven and soft eyed as he had appeared then, she had believed him to be pampered in luxury. _How wrong I was._ She saw strength, weathered experience, mettle, a will like no other; all of that combined with goodness, undefeated optimism and purity. To her, he was the treasure. Eleanor’s eyes trailed the path of his scar, from beneath his eye, across his cheek, to his jaw. “What happened that time? How did you get that scar?”  

Rogers pressed his lips together, looked away, down at the pearls. He closed the box. “Combat with a Spanish galleon off the coast of Mexico.” His eyes misted into the past. “We had routed her. By all rights, her colors should have been struck. And they were, just minutes after the event. But in that moment, one of her stern chasers fired a shot at the most implausible angle.” His voice trembled slightly as he spoke. “Nothing more than the desperation of a dying thing, but that shot hit us right at the helm. When the smoke cleared, my brother was dead and I had this.”

 _It is not just the physical remnant of a horrible accident._ Eleanor realized that every time Rogers looked into a mirror he faced the reminder of his brother’s death. She remembered Mrs. Hudson’s words about his last child. He had named it after the dead brother, but the child had never survived infancy. _He blames himself_.

Rogers sighed and tried to make light out of it. “Though I suppose it's some strange irony that if he hadn't died, it wouldn't have made for nearly as interesting a book and I probably wouldn't be here right now.” He grinned at his own attempt of gallow’s humor.

But Eleanor did not smile. His attempt at masking his pain and grief over the wreck, only deepened it for Eleanor. She wished she could relieve his pain, carry it for him. Rogers’ smile faltered as their eyes met. Like a young innocent child almost, Eleanor lifted her hand. The scar and the experience that led him to Nassau was part of her own story now. She would not be who or where she was now without him. Tenderly, Eleanor caressed his cheek with the back of her hand, like lady Fortuna reaching out to bless it, until her fingers trailed his chin, transfixing him in return.

Her touch, so innocent and heartfelt, struck a chord. Sarah had always flinched at the sight of his scar. First, she mourned how it had ruined his face, then she could not look at him anymore, and finally she could not bear his touch. The day he left her with his mother, she spat on his scar and told him she never wanted to see his disfigured face again. Rogers had never felt whole since that day, but a broken, discarded toy instead. And so, when Eleanor stroked his scar and her stormy blue eyes were filled with love to counter his inner pain, she did not solely bless the tragedy in which he had lost his brother, she made him feel whole, a man, a lovable man, a handsome man.

Enthralled, Rogers turned and took a step towards her, while her fingers still rested on his chin. Eleanor cupped his face with both her hands, while Rogers wrapped his hand around the back of her head. He pulled her to him and pressed his lips on hers. Eleanor kissed him back as if he were ambrosia. In that moment, they were two souls clinging to each other as if the other was the raft that would save them.

There was a knock on the door and without waiting for an answer, the door was about to open. Rogers broke the kiss and stepped away again, watching Eleanor with regret and yearning, tasting her on his lips. Eleanor backed away in fright and guilt and stared wide eyed at Mrs. Hudson standing in the doorway. Rogers turned and when he recognized it was Eleanor’s chambermaid, he said irritated and cross, “I'm sorry. Were you summoned?”

Looking at Rogers accusingly, Mrs. Hudson stepped through the door and closed it. Then she blinked her eyes nervously and her voice trembled. “Please forgive me. This is so foreign to me. I don't know how to do it.”

The woman’s manner alarmed Eleanor and flabbergasted Rogers. In fright, Eleanor looked at Rogers. _Is he in trouble now with his wife or her relations?_

Mrs. Hudson took a deep breath. “About six months ago, I was approached by a man who introduced himself as John and said his employers wished to monitor your operation to retake Nassau, said they had a vested interest.” As she talked, Rogers grew increasingly uncomfortable. He stretched his shoulders. He blinked. And his face became that of a cold statue. “I assumed this had something to do with your investors, which seemed perfectly legitimate. They offered me a significant amount of money.” Mrs. Hudson whispered, “I said yes.” Rogers looked at her with disdain. “It turns out the man's name is Juan Antonio Grandal and his employer is the intelligence department of the Casa De Contratación.”

Rogers closed his eyes as if struck by a blow. Reeling, he turned around and walked to the desk for support. Eleanor stared at Max’s share of the Urca gold. _Mrs. Hudson is not spying on Rogers on behalf of his wife, but the Spanish intelligence. How much did she hear?_  

“Upon our arrival,” Mrs. Hudson continued. “I received a query from them. It said the department spies had learned of a series of transactions to exchange a significant portion of the Urca De Lima's prize gold for more portable commodities. An attempt to walk away with their money without them knowing of it - a scheme they find most insulting.”

It was worse than Eleanor thought. _Of course, Spain found out that part of the gold had been exchanged_. The sole exchanger New Providence ever had, Mr. Ferrier, had sold his share of Eleanor’s business to Max and had retired. Somebody had to bring all those pearls and gems on the island, and leave with the Spanish gold. If there was a spy in the governor’s household, then surely there were others in the American colonies too. _Max was wrong. Spain knew all along._

Mrs. Hudson took a deep breath. “I was then asked if you had yet learned of this converted cache.” She grew increasingly emotional. “So standing outside the door just now, I found myself faced with two choices - report what I had just heard, that you are considering keeping this money and know that Nassau will likely burn for it and you with it.” Mrs. Hudson fluttered her eyes and said with a trembling voice, “Or I could open the door and warn you of the full scope of the danger you face if you do not return the entirety of the hidden cache along with the gold from the fort.”

Rogers’ strained voice was a dark whisper. “I cannot even begin to imagine what would motivate you to tell a lie like this.” He rose, turned and took several steps towards Mrs. Hudson. “So let's assume for the moment that you are telling the truth.” Rogers did not blink once, when he swore, “I will see this money secured and return it with the rest of the gold in a matter of hours. You'll relay this to your contact?”

“No.”

“No?” he murmured. “Why not?”

 _This is a nightmare_ , thought Eleanor. _He has not even touched the pearls, let alone spent them. He only got hazy eyed at all that beauty, and not even for himself. Who would not be captivated the first time they see such cash and see a prosperous Nassau for it?_

“The department has estimated the approximate total value of the cache based on the scope of the exchanges involved,” explained Mrs. Hudson. “And that,” she indicated at the treasure spread out across the desk, “is only half of it.”

Rogers’ jaw dropped. “Half?”

“Spain wants you to return all of it.”

Rogers was so shocked he was rendered speechless. At this point, Eleanor decided to speak for him. “You went this far to betray your spy activities to us. Surely, you can tell them something that buys us time and goodwill.” Hands on her hips, Eleanor stood in front Mrs. Hudson, blocking her from further view from Rogers. “You will tell your contact that the governor discovered a share of the gold was exchanged into gems and pearls. That he managed to take possession of it and will send it to Havana along with the gold, and that he is searching to recover the remaining half. If your contact asks you how the governor acquired it, how he learned of the cache, I suggest you spin some tale around it. You lied to us, so you can lie to your contact as well. I do not have to remind you that you might die if Spain attacks Nassau just as easily as the rest of us, and will never see your children again. Now leave us, so we can do our job. You know yours and it is not being my chambermaid.”

Mrs. Hudson blinked at Eleanor who had never spoken with such authority to her before. Perhaps it was the fact that she had often spoken ill of Eleanor’s past, while she was no better - a treasonous spy to the governor and her own country – or perhaps it was because Mrs. Hudson was accustomed to doing the bidding of women, that made Mrs. Hudson say, “I shall try.”

When Mrs. Hudson was gone, Eleanor watched Rogers seated in his chair, a bitter grimace on his face. “And where can _we_ ever hope to find the rest of this cache?”

“Jack and Anne,” Eleanor retorted. “They were in the fort with Charles, before they all fled. They were Max’s partners. They have it.”

“Why not Vane?” Rogers argued, waving his hand dismissively. “Perhaps the other half sailed away with Teach’s fleet, hmmm. Maybe that was what Teach returned to Nassau for – defend the island in return for a share of the gold, Flint’s share.”

“No,” Eleanor said decidedly. She leaned across the desk. “Charles had no time. He had a price on his head and expected to fight his way to Edward Teach.” Eleanor tapped her finger on the desk. “The treasury shares were evenly split between Flint, Charles and Rackham and their crew.” She pointed at the box. “That is half of the missing cache, but also a sixth of the gold that was stolen. With the other half that makes a third of the treasury. Neither Flint nor Charles would have split their third with Max. Rackham would have. Max was his business partner, having an equal share according to the articles she signed.”

Rogers seemed to come to himself again. Her explanation sounded reasonable. And he could not help but notice that Eleanor was bloody hot when she worked herself up about something. Rogers looked away from her breasts that almost seemed to spill over her bodice. If Mrs. Hudson had not interrupted them, he would probably have her naked in his own bed now, well if he had a bed - his bed still needed to be put together. _I would have taken her on this desk, amidst all the pearls and gems. For God’s sake, be honest to yourself, you would have done it on the floor._ Worse, he might still do just that, given that he could still remember the velvet taste of her lips, that it had been too fucking short a kiss and he had developed an erection again, just thinking about it. 

He hit his palm on the desk, stood and turned his back on her, looking out of a window onto the market square. “Nobody hunted Rackham and Bonny. They could have slipped away with the rest of it.” He frowned. “And could have joined Teach.”

“Perhaps, but doubtful. Edward Teach never felt respect for him, saw him as weak. Teach would never have Rackham on as a captain, and Rackham worked his way up too far to swallow his pride – became captain, hoodwinked Flint and Charles and got the gold, lived in this house as a pirate king. No, he would never accept returning to being Teach’s dog to kick.” Eleanor walked towards him, stood close to him. He turned his head and she gazed into his dazzling blue eyes that looked so pained and shamed for his moment of weakness that it hurt Eleanor to see him like that. Eleanor mustered a brave smile for him. “Jackand Anne are still on the island, I’m sure of it,” she whispered. “They cannot risk any nearby beaches to take a skiff. Their only chance of escape is to cross all of the island and leave from the other end. We can find them. We will find them.”

Rogers stared at her, studied her, but there was a divide, a reserve that had not been there moments before. Eleanor felt a chill, as Rogers turned his back to her and rubbed his forehead. “I will have all of the navy and the regulars on the alert from tonight on. Can you send Perkins upstairs on your way out?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 12th Night: The countess Olivia is without father and brother and rich. Though beautiful, men want her for her riches, her status. Olivia rejects them all, while she falls in love with Viola dressed as a man. Due to circumstance, Olivia happens upon Viola's twin brother, Sebastian, thinking him to be Cessario (=Viola). Olivia gives Sebastian a pearl and offers marriage to him. Sebastian considers it a miracle and luck, good fortune, wondering whether he or she is mad, but decides she can't be mad for how else can she govern her house and so many people so cool and collected. In the 3x05 scenes Max gives the pearl as a dowry (marriage) to Rogers who later on reveals what he's thinking and feeling like Sebastian. I will quote some of Sebastian's soliloqui of Act 4, scene 3:
> 
> "Sebastian (to himself):This is the air, that is the glorious sun.  
> This pearl she gave me, I do feel ’t and see ’t,  
> And though ’tis wonder that enwraps me thus,  
> Yet ’tis not madness.[...]  
> [...] For though my soul disputes well with my sense  
> That this may be some error, but no madness,  
> Yet doth this accident and flood of fortune[...]" 
> 
> The show imo alludes to the 12th Night with the focus on Max's one pearl and using the word 'dowry'. I added Eleanor thinking of Max as a countess who has the means to go and do as she pleases and included Rogers referencing Max's cool ability to run a business. 
> 
> Paradise Lost (the moral one): Paradise Lost's point is that the snake deceived Eve, while Adam eats it with full knowledge, rational thought, conviction and choice. Adam therefore is the biggest sinner. Eleanor's reaction to Max's investment is revulsion first, but when Rogers is tempted, she does not argue. She is fascinated by his reasoning and his response to it as if he is her moral compass, though, her initial response is the more moral one. Rogers is ready to rationalise the taking of a bribe, "like the governors before him". Eleanor's response to his backstory is that of an "innocent", while his response is the "sinful" one - he initiates the kiss. Rogers is a broken man who seeks paradise to be made whole again, but inadvertenly wishes to transgress morally on several accounts for it. The show makes it visually clear by having his face half in darkness (the scarred side), half in light. Eleanor's face is always in light.
> 
> Cupid: in Rogers' office hangs a mirror (seen in 3x05 and the 3x08 scene when Eleanor learns of Vane's presence), with a cupid at the bottom of the frame. It is shown several times during the conversation and shortly after the kiss. When Rogers recognizes Mrs. Hudson, he steps aside and blocks the little Cupid from view. So, when the scene is romantic in nature, we have a Cupid in view. When the scene's subject alters to the dreaded fleet of Havana, Cupid is out of view. 
> 
> Candles: are a symbol in the legend of Psyche and Cupid, as it is the fierce burning of an oil lamp (symbolizing passion) that ends up wounding him. Many of the personal evening scenes in Rogers' office always have candles, but their arrangement and how they are shot alters for the three scenes (3x05, 3x07 and 3x08). In the treasure scene they're all individual candles, standing apart, except for a chandelier near the mirror. I think they reflect the hearts of both characters. They carry a flame of passion, but they are not a pair yet.


	13. The Kissed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rogers and Eleanor need to find a new balance in working alongside each other after their kiss. Nassau's council has its first meeting and is inaugerated. And Eleanor has an idea where to find Jack Rackham and Anne Bonny.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: this chapter contains explicit sexual language

As long as he had been busy, Rogers had managed to push away all thought of the kiss and all that led to it, but in the quiet darkness, as he lay in his hammock, it governed his mind. Rogers saw Eleanor’s blue eyes before him again, so full of emotion and he felt her gentle, searing touch. In his mind the kiss never ceased to be, slow and languid. The taste of the sweetness of her soft, velvety lips and her breadth was everlasting. He wanted to revel in the perfume of her neck, making her shiver if he could plant kiss after stolen kiss, and undress her, admire her nakedness, nuzzle her nipples, explore all of her body as if it were the world, taste her sweet honey and make her cry out his name, and then the joy of uniting with her and discover the rhythm that would both bring them satisfaction. Without thinking, Rogers was already out of his hammock, grabbed a chandelier and almost walked out the door with the intention to cross to the east wing via the service passage, slither between her sheets in the darkness and make her love him. After all, she had kissed him back, succumbed to his embrace like a willing mind.

But as he laid his hand on the door handle, he asked himself – _and what the hell do you think you’re doing?_ _She’s as good as an innocent child - wild, but innocent - who barely knows any better, parentless, left to her own devices pretty much most of her life in a savage world of pirates who took whatever they wished. She has no conception of the repercussions this may have for her, the shame, the ostracizing as a mistress to a married man. God forbid, if you beget her with child. You merely needed to look at Sarah or she turned out to be with child again. You’d think yourself her lover in the night, but you would be as monstrous as a winged, venomous snake._

Rogers let go of the door handle and retreated back to his hammock. Eleanor herself had once warned him how easy men were tempted into doing wrong. He was here but a day, and already the exoticness, the sensuality of Nassau and its flirting with crime affected him. In one fell swoop the mere luster of pearls and the desire for a woman lured him onto a forbidden path, with Nassau and Eleanor paying the price for it.

Society was far more, no too, forgiving of the licentiousness of a man, but never of a woman. It was as unfair than society condoning tyranny and violence from men while rejecting the sensible but strict rule from a woman. Nonetheless, it was a social reality. Learning to function within the confounds and rules of her gender was the first thing Roger had demanded of her. It would be the only way she could ever truly accomplish something. Except in the process, somehow she had become all he had ever wished for himself in a woman. It was as if he had picked up Cupid’s stray dart and plunged it in his own heart. He was not just falling in love, he already was. He did not even know when he began. Had it been mere lust, the kiss would not have happened. He cared for her, and it was the one reason he returned to his hammock and prohibited himself to taste the forbidden fruit. He would just throw himself at work more, of which there was plenty. His feelings could only be a distraction to what needed to be done.

By morning, the eastern sky had the pink and purple sheen of the sunrise. Eleanor slowly opened her eyes. The first rays of the sun filtered through the blinds of Eleanor's window and dappled her body in its light. She closed her eyes as the sun kissed her brow, her cheeks, her shoulders, down to her uncovered breast and finally settled between her legs. She bit her lip as the knot of desire that had been building up was tighter than ever before. Her sleep had been restless. She had tossed and turned, his kiss always foremost in her mind, whether in dream or awake. Eleanor had not meant it to happen, but then it did. And while it seemed endlessly long as it happened, it was cut much too short. They had barely brushed each other’s lips. Yet the pressure of his lips still burned on hers, like a mark. In her feverish mind, that brush became a devouring tongue, groping hands, impatient lifting of her skirts, shoving aside all those pearls and gems, eager joyful thrusts to reach ecstasy. Frantically, Eleanor moved her finger rapidly, applied more pressure, rolled on her side as she moved her hips, tensed more and more, and imagined he was inside her and came with her. She sobbed, breathlessly as finally some release washed over her in waves crashing on the beach. She bit away her gasping cries in her feathered pillow, regretting that it was no more than a fantasy. Eleanor flopped onto her back and said, “Fuck! Fuck, Fuck, Fuck!”

Finally, she lifted herself from her featherbed with one hand, closing her eyes and feeling woozy still. _Get a grip on yourself, Eleanor_. _It was barely a kiss, and it’s not happening again. Everybody’s searching for Rackham and scared of the Spanish coming to raze the island, and you have your head in the clouds_. With iron resolve she got out of bed, washed herself and picked out the pastel green petticoat, mantua and matching stay. She touched the red dress for a lingering moment, but it had at this time too many associations for her to a moment where they had lost their heads. She did not bother to call for Mrs. Hudson to dress herself. At least one good thing would come out of this – no more shadow following her around.  

When Eleanor came down for breakfast, she found the room empty. “Where’s the Lord Governor?”

“He left very early to oversee the selection of men who are to repair Fort Nassau, M’am," said Dyson, Rogers' personal manservant. "He wished to be seen, meet his citizens and oversee Fort Nassau.”

Eleanor leaned her elbow on the table and her head on her hand, while eating some bread with butter and mango marmalade. As she tasted the mango, she dropped the bread, and pushed away her plate. _He will be gone all day_. “And what am I supposed to do?”

“The Lord Governor asked me to relay to you that he wants you to prepare the council’s inauguration and review the draft of his speech.”

 _That is something at least_. At first, Eleanor was somewhat puzzled on how to prepare an official inauguration, and so she approached the clerk who had been working on the papers for it. She set about reviewing the draft of his speech, and inspired by Max's allusions to marriage the day before, Eleanor represented it as a marriage, between England and Nassau, between navy and military force and commerce, between men and women, making them all brother and sister. Rogers had left no one with instructions on further details on the ceremony though. Obviously, the public presentation of the council would have to take place on the steps of the mansion. Hands on her hips, Eleanor walked outside the mansion and surveyed the state of its fronton.

“You,” she signaled a manservant she saw walking through the hallway. She pointed at the fronton. “I want the front cleaned up, and have some decoration put up in the English colors. Get some men to do it.”

She lifted her skirt, raced back inside, watched the assembly room and then noticed the garden through the window. There was no way of knowing when exactly Rogers would return. He might even be late. So, she ordered other servants to put some stands in the garden, chairs, and have men sent to Max’s tavern for rum. Next, she sought out the kitchens and told them she wanted tea in readiness, have lime juice made and fruit cut up within the hour. She had rum poured into a large bowl with the lime juice, sugar, and tea, and had it spiced with nutmeg. Then she told them to seep the papaya, mango and cut lime in the concoction. It seemed pretty insignificant in comparison to overseeing the repairs of the fort or searching Jack and Anne, but she guessed that the set up of the council and putting up a front of friendliness and wanting to work together was in its own just as important.

When the first men of Nassau that had been invited to become part of the council arrived, wearing bag wigs, tricorne hats and their best justaucorps, Eleanor was ready to welcome them. “Gentlemen, please excuse the Lord Governor for not being present yet,” she smiled. “He is a busy man, making sure that Nassau’s security and safety is taken care of as quickly as possible. But I‘m sure he will be here shortly to start the official proceedings. In the meantime, would you like to join me in the garden for refreshment?" These men all had heard she was alive and in the employ of the governor. Some of them even had seen her march through the street the day before to and fro Max’s tavern. But none of them had expected her to be this courteous, soft spoken lady. “Mr. Dillane, would you care for some rum fruit punch? Mr. Haldon?”

“Yes, please, Miss Guthrie,” said Mr. Haldon eagerly.  

“I would try the same,” added Mr. Dillane. It was all presented in fine wine glasses, and the men made their greatest effort to drink it with finesse, complimenting her on how refreshing it was.

“We are so truly grateful, Miss Guthrie, that finally England has come to ensure the island’s commerce and future in these exciting times,” assured Mr. Grosier her. “As well as see how the Guthrie name is restored back into good order. Without your father’s business all those many years there never would have remained some foundation of commerce.”

Eleanor smiled and nodded. “Thank you.” Although she remembered that Mr. Grosier had been one of the first men to refuse any further credit to her, after her father had proclaimed himself a fugitive.

“I knew your mother,” said Mr. Stephenson from the interior. Though his hair was as white as his bag wig, he was still an imposing, tall man. “I believe she would have been so proud to see all the good work you are doing, and your father. I dare say, when I arrived here, I almost thought it was her welcoming me so graciously. You look so much like her.”

While she knew it to be flattery, Eleanor could not help but be touched by that remark. “It pleases me to hear it, Mr. Stephenson.”

Mr. Stephenson shook his head sadly. “We know life has been hard on you. Losing your mother that young, and your father… Well, perhaps best not speak of it anymore.”

She touched the older man’s hand. “Thank you. You are very kind.”

“Mr. Underhill also asked me to give you his regards, and would like to call on you if he may. He is very much relieved, that finally, your plans might see the Christian light of day.”

Eleanor bowed her head. “I would be very happy to receive him.”

Though Pastor Lambrick was not to be a member of the council, he had come along with Mr. Stephenson. "To bless the inauguration of the council," he said.

Eleanor had never much liked the young pastor. He used to preach hellfire and sin to her whenever she met him, meanwhile ogling her breasts as if they were the greatest sin of all. Fencing goods stolen by murderers rather made her want to avoid the hell and brimstone talk. Today though he talked of the miracle of salvation that followed out of hardship and repentance, and how Eleanor set a fine example to all the other women in Nassau. It did not make him eyeball her breasts any less. Eleanor had to bite her tongue to avoid swearing in front of him, just to make him go away. Instead she smiled and nodded.

"Rest assured, Miss Guthrie, your good father is in heaven now," said Lambrick. "He confessed and repented all to me. And he must be looking down on you with all the benevolence of the heavens." Eleanor was not sure how much longer she could endure the man, when he finally said, "I hope to see you in church next Sunday. I hear our Lord Governor is a religious man."

Eleanor did not know how to respond to that. Her mother used to take her to church, but after her death and the raid, Eleanor had never seen the inside of a church anymore. She saw organized religion as man’s construction to oppress people and nonsense. _How could God allow Spain to murder and rape women and children who never did them any harm?_ She believed there was a god who had created the universe and gave man reason and feelings to know for themselves what was right and wrong. She had done wrong, and she knew it. She had done good too. But Eleanor never needed a bible to tell her that, nor could she find strength in it to make the right choice. More and more, she was convinced she could only find such strength by the example of other people and her own conscious. She dared not answer for Rogers’ beliefs. She knew he held to Christian ideals and regarded Jesus as a teacher on humanistic morality. He certainly wished to promote religious awareness in New Providence. And his allusions to fate suggested he might have faith in the bible's miracles. But she could hardly believe he was a Puritan. She was glad when several of the English advisors arrived, to avoid answering Lambrick's invitation, and instead made the introductions between the two parties.

Around this time Max was welcomed in the hallway by a servant and shown through the salon towards the garden. She could not help but notice that at least the governor seemed to make better use of the grand house than Jack who had let the level floor be abused by his crew. Whenever she visited Rackham she had to step over empty bottles; the ground floor pretty much served as one giant fuck-tent. To see such a house restored to its original design pleased her. And perhaps one day, she might live in such a house herself. Why not this house? The governor was a striking handsome man, not even forty. Last evening, the officers at the tavern said he had left his wife behind in England. And in Max’s professional experience, no man could go long without a woman’s attentions. Wielding power was a lonely life and it only increased the need to find some partner to confide in and serve your every desire. At some point, Max was sure, Governor Rogers would seek a mistress. And why not her? Though Max favored women for her own pleasure, she knew how to make a man desire her and she was well aware that men liked her exotic looks. Admittedly, she had to hide her surprise the day before when _private_ meant _including Eleanor._ But she thought she had adapted quite well by offering an olive branch to Eleanor as well. Max knew how to play a triad. She would throw in all her charms this afternoon and measure the governor’s responses to that. One could dress Eleanor as a lady, but it would not make her a sophisticated socialite. In that department, Max was certain she could beat Eleanor hands down.

However, when she entered the garden, the governor was not there and Eleanor talked, smiled and laughed with her guests as the perfect hostess as if she was the lady of this grand house. There was none of Eleanor’s former severity, only elegance. Somehow, Eleanor was always able to return from a fall, and beat Max to getting what Max wanted. And the manner in which Eleanor had done it was even more amazing - picked out of a prison cell by the governor and managed to acquire his trust. _The governor must like blondes_ , she thought, _like the rest of the world, including me_. Even though Eleanor swore, fought and thought like a man but several months ago and was a famous convict for leading the dissolute life of a pirate, she would always have her father’s name, a high birth, blonde hair and blue eyes. _I always have to fight harder and stronger to catch up, only to find I am still behind._

Max looked down at her petticoat, regretting her choice of too much glaring silk. She knew men thought it sensual and yearned to feel it. That was how she had hoped to appear to the rest of the council, especially the governor. But as modest as Eleanor appeared now, Max felt too much the brothel madam. It was too late to do anything about that though, so she said, “Gentlemen,” smiling. All heads turned and the conversation halted. “With my compliments, I hope you enjoy the refreshment.”

“We seem complete,” said Eleanor. “For those who do not yet know her, may I present Max, our final council member, owner of the tavern, and a New World example on how talent and a keen business mind can make someone invaluable.”

At that point, Rogers arrived with Major Rollins, all formal in his blue-green justaucorps, white stockings and shoes, greeting his guests and looking expressively at Eleanor that he was impressed. He invited everybody inside to sign the legal papers in the assembly room, where a first initial meeting was held. Rogers wanted proposals regarding the huge pool of work force of unemployed pardoned pirates. Not every man could be expected to work on the fort. Proposals were made regarding possible and highly needed development of Nassau – clean streets, repairs, sewage system, fresh water distribution, proper housing, better roads that connected the interior with Nassau. They discussed what type of private businesses that were absent, but could help with all the previous – contractors, transportation of farm produce. Several of the council indigenous to Nassau proposed certain names of captains or quartermasters or business relations.

But to this, Rogers said, “I am not one who will point at a man and tell him that he has to set up a transportation business. But these are all good ideas of what Nassau and New Providence needs, and if the word of it got spread, then the man who feels compelled by it may step up the plate himself.” He indicated Max and Eleanor. “You can attest to my impression that the now pardoned pirates are inventive men with skill and a talent for organizing themselves. It is why I believe a civilized Nassau can work.”

Max had been listening with keen interest to all these plans. “I could help with that. The men meet at the tavern when they sign the pardon and I have a work force who can make suggestions.”

“Yes!” Rogers nodded. “That is what I mean. Plant the seeds of ideas and let the men come up with a solution.”

“But who will pay for all of that?” said the English crown liaison Mr. Blight. “Contractors can’t build roads from nothing, without material, without money to pay wages. They need something to start up their business. Are we going to pay for it?”

“What about some sort of Nassau bank, where businessmen can extract a loan to get started?” said Mr. Hardyng of English commerce.

Eleanor and Rogers exchanged a glance. Max’s share might have been a good basis to set up a New Providence bank. But that was not to be. “I will see what is possible with my investors,” Rogers said, frowning.  “Put that subject on the agenda for the next meeting.”

“Money will be required for heavy constructions of island infrastructure,” said Eleanor to Mr. Blight. “If a house owner wants his front cleaned, then he can hire and pay them himself. Men can sail the skiffs floating about to deliver orders from town to beaches nearer to the interior farmers further away from Nassau, or ferry someone to Nassau and back for a fee, they don’t even need to invest in transportation itself. The skiffs have always belonged to everybody.”

“That is actually a great idea, Eleanor,” Max said. “The interior and Nassau have lived as separate communities. But now that Nassau will not be a locale of lawless murderers and thieves anymore, farmers can come to Nassau to hire hands or tradesmen, carpenters, cloth makers, smiths, bookkeepers. People could come and shop here for more exotic items, as well as sell their produce on the market.”

Mr. Stephenson pondered Max’s words as well as Eleanor’s. “It would indeed make the life of many farmers easier." He then looked at Pastor Lambrick who sat respectfully some distance away. "Pastor Lambrick can possibly concur to the idea of spreading the word amongst our congregation to gather an annual sum towards repairing the old church of Nassau, yes?”

Rogers smiled. “Well, it seems at least that ideas are flowing to make the whole of the island a community.”  He got his watch out of his pocket and sighed. “Good. I want plans drafted for the road network that is present, and plans of the town. At least we can then prioritize which roads need improvement and such. Shall we go outside and make a public announcement?”

A small crowd had gathered at the market square, curious about the extra attention and decoration that had been put up. Rogers introduced the inaugurated council to them, and explained its function. While they did not know the six Englishman, they cheered for one of theirs or another of Nassau. And of course it did not go unnoticed that Eleanor stood next to the governor and that unexpectedly Max had stationed herself beside Eleanor. It all ended with Pastor Lambrick asking everyone to join him in prayer to ask God to bless Nassau's new future, the governor and his council. Respectfully, Eleanor bowed her head and studied the people on the market square from under her eyelashes. She had not expected many to join in. But she was rather surprised to see most of the men and women (including whores) had taken of their hats, caps or bonnet. They had their eyes closed and their mouths moved. Nassau was more god-fearing than Eleanor had expected.

When the council dispersed, Max lingered, trying to think of something impressive to say to the governor and a kind word to Eleanor. But Rogers had already turned, taking two steps at a time to enter the mansion, while Eleanor followed close. Max’s charms and looks seemed water of a duck's back on Rogers. Meanwhile, even though both Rogers and Eleanor listened to her ideas and gave her recognition, the moment all requirement for ceremony was over, Max was no more significant to either of them than anybody else on the council, although she doubted any of the other council members had donated a treasury to the governor. At the very least, the governor could have invited her to stay for dinner to show some semblance of gratitude. Upset, she shook her head and departed for the tavern.

When Eleanor fell in step beside Rogers in the hallway, he asked in a quiet, yet formal voice, “Have you heard anything from Mrs. Hudson yet?”

Eleanor shook her head. “No. I have not seen her all day." They had reached the assembly room and crossed it to climb the stairs. " What has been done so far to try and find Rackham and Bonny?”

“Unfortunately, patrols have not sighted either two. I also had inquiries made about their escape route. Rackham’s former crew claim the pair did not escape via the blown wall. Nor were they seen together in the company of Vane when he fought his way to the beach together with Teach against the bounty hunters.”

“At least we have one advantage,” said Eleanor as they reached the upper floor. “Jack and Anne are probably unaware that we're looking for them. They may be hiding somewhere for a while to make everyone believe they escaped with Teach’s fleet.”

Instead of continuing to his office, Rogers waited at the top of the stairs. “Perhaps,” he said non-committal. And though he looked at her, it was as if he was seeing right through her, as if she was but air.

Eleanor was not surprised that he preserved propriety, but she could not help feel hurt by the change. There had been a friendship at least. And it was not as if she had jumped his bones. Rogers had kissed her of his own volition. When he lingered without talking, she asked, “Have you any further need of me to be of assistance to you?”

“No, Miss Guthrie. Not today, I think. I will see you at dinner. Commodore Chamberlain will be joining us.” He nodded his head slightly. “Thank you for your part today.” He turned and walked away.

No dinner had ever been as boring as that night. Chamberlain rarely addressed her if he could get away with it, and Rogers did not engage her in conversation either. She might as well have been a flower on the wallpaper to either men. Not that Rogers was all that talkative to the Commodore. Instead Chamberlain talked for two, chuckling at his own wit.

“I have sent men down the fort to explore its foundation,” said Chamberlain. “There seems to be a vast network of tunnels. Some have not been used in years. It could be useful to have them mapped out.”

Eleanor remembered the last time she had been down in such a tunnel. Something nagged at her about the tunnels, but she dismissed the feeling as related to the bad memories she had about Vane, threatening her, and ending up killing her father afterwards.

“Are you well, Miss Guthrie?” asked Rogers suddenly.

She looked up in surprise, not really knowing what Chamberlain and Rogers were talking about now. “Beg pardon?”

“You look a bit pale, and you have not eaten much. Are you well?”

Eleanor sighed. She wanted to be gone from the room, from the Commodore, and from Rogers who confused her by acting distant and formal one moment, but then could not hide his genuine concern from her the next. She wanted to speak, but her throat felt choked with emotion. “If you two gentlemen will excuse me. I think I may have a slight headache,” she finally managed to whisper.

Both men rose. Rogers stared at her, frowned, but then nodded. “Good night, Miss Guthrie.”

Eleanor did not have a headache, and she could not sleep. So, she sat in the window sill, leaning her head against the glass, and watched the candlelight cast on the garden’s terrace from the dining room windows. She already regretted her sudden flight from the dinner. _Why am I acting like some foolish thirteen year old?_ _It was especially mortifying since she did not even act like that when she was thirteen._ _Tomorrow I will try harder. He is important to Nassau. What he is trying to do is important for Nassau. And I’m supposed to help him find Rackham and Bonny. Every day we do not find them is more chance for them to escape with their share of the gold._

What had been simmering in her subconscious all evening formed into an idea then. She looked down, through the window again. The garden and terrace was enveloped in darkness. No chandeliers were burning anymore, not even in the drawing room. There was no point then in returning downstairs. She had to talk to Rogers though, and if he was not below anymore, it meant she had to seek him out in his private quarters at night and alone. That might give him the wrong impression and lead to further embarrassment _. Stop second guessing everything. This cannot wait until tomorrow morning._

She found Woodes behind his desk, without his justaucorps, waistcoat and stock tie – only his shirt. Although, Eleanor had seen plenty of men with no shirt at all, she had never seen him informally dressed. Nor did she expect him to. Neither did he, clearly. Startled, he looked at her and rose from his chair, reaching for the waistcoat that hung from a peg.

“Beg pardon, sir,” she said, her eyes cast down, hands folded neatly before her. “But I think I have an idea where Rackham and Bonny may have been hiding, even may still be hiding. I thought it was too important to wait.”

“Come in,” he said as he buttoned his waistcoat, and decided not to bother with the rest of his attire. Eleanor closed the door behind her and sat down in one of the chairs. Rogers seated himself too, leaning his elbows on his desk. “Well, out with it.”

“The tunnels,” Eleanor said. “Jack and Anne weren’t seen with Charles at the beach, nor directly outside of the fort. It's as if they vanished into thin air. But even people who don’t know Anne them personally could recognize them easily by sight and description, especially when seen together carrying a coffer the size that Max gave us.” Eleanor slid her hand across the desk’s wooden tabletop. “The moment of the blast, everybody’s eyes were on the devastated wall and on Charles escaping. Meanwhile, Hornigold’s men went in to subdue those in the courtyard. Since Hornigold also aimed to protect the gold from being taken, it is self evident that Rackham and Bonny did not use the same escape route as Vane.”

“Yes, that sounds a reasonable conjecture. In fact, we supposed they probably escaped via the tunnels.”

“More, I think they hid in one of the older, rarely used tunnels. They may still be hiding in one of those now, hoping that we will forget about their existence or believe them long gone. They hide one night, two nights, maybe a third and then leave the island by skiff in the belief that nobody is looking for them anymore.”

“But the commodore had the tunnels inspected. Hornigold pointed them out to him,” said Rogers.

Eleanor shook her head. “Those are the better known ones, with an exit or entrance in the immediate surroundings of the fort and Nassau. There are lesser known tunnels that lead deep into the interior.”

“You know these tunnels?”

“Yes, my father showed them to me once, before the Rosario Raid.” Eleanor sighed, regretting her foolishness of ever telling Charles about them. “I had the keys to their gates before I was apprehended and handed to Captain Hume. Obviously, with Max becoming the owner of my tavern afterwards, she would have found the keys and give them to Rackham, the treasury keeper and responsible for the fort’s rebuilding.”

Rogers rose and rummaged through some maps. “Can you point them out on this?”

“I shall try.”

“Good,” he said. “Stay here. I won’t be long. I will have Major Rollins fetched to get regulars in readiness to explore them tonight even.” He was in such a hurry, he even forgot about his justaucorps.

As good as she possibly could remember, Eleanor took up the plume and put crosses at each area where there was a tunnel entrance towards the fort. Several of them had already been marked based on Hornigold’s information, but she added the seemingly less strategic ones, and wrote down a separate list of particular landmarks.

When he returned, Rogers relaxed into the back of his chair. “Let us hope your hunch leads to a clue of their whereabouts.” He smiled at her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cupid & Psyche: Cupid makes the world believe that Psyche is visited nightly by a monstrous winged snake. Since her marriage was a funeral ceremony, it is regarded as a shameful thing, not a real marriage. Psyche is further shamed by being pregnant with his child due to these nightly visits. Rogers' thoughts allude to this.
> 
> Danaë: Danaë's father, the king, is warned that his grandson would be the death of him. So he locks Danaë up. But Zeus visits her in the form of a golden shower of sunrays and gets her with child. This image of the sun making love to a woman is alluded to with waking Eleanor who then masturbates.
> 
> Paradise Lost: Marriage is non-existent in the Pirate Republic - Gonzalo's whores and knaves (The Tempest). Eleanor only knows that when two people love and want each other that they form a pair. Sarah and Rogers are married, but not a pair, so to her it's perfectly allowable for Rogers to pair with another woman. But she thinks he's too morally perfect to allow it himself. In contrast, Rogers sees himself as a grave, mortal sinner for desiring her (Adam), and regards Eleanor as a perfectly innocent nature child (Eve). 
> 
> Deïsm: Because of the "innnocent nature child" (Paradise Lost Eve, and Tempest's Miranda) I included a lack of religious upbringing for Eleanor. I make her a humanitarian deïst - she believes in a god, but not in religion - a popular belief of the time. It fits the relation Adam and Eve have with God in Paradise, a spontaneous informal worship. Historical Rogers was a Christian, though obviously there are too many elements that exclude him from being a Puritan. I see him as a Christian Deïst. Locke's book (the first book that Eleanor borrowed from Rogers) had a major impact on the deïst arguments, though Locke himself was not a deïst. Eleanor as an "innocent nature child" having an Eve-like worship of god fits the expectations of pre-Locke deïsts (innate ideas), but Locke destroyed that argument by stressing formation of ideas instead of there being innate ideas. 
> 
> Timeline: 3x05 happens all on the same day, except Rackham telling Anne he will go to Nassau to get the pardon and return in a few hours. It suggests this happens the following morning. However, in 3x06 Rackham arrives in Nassau (after a few hours of walking), while Teach and Vane are already on Ocracoke and it takes 3 days sailing to get to Ocracoke. For 3x05 we have Teach and Vane taking the Spanish vessel, the first of 3 days sailing to Ocracoke. Eleanor and Rogers move into the mansion and receive Max's cache that evening and Flint speaks with the Maroon Queen. Flint cannot arrive at Ocracoke to challenge Teach before the 4th day of Eleanor's and Rogers' moving into Nassau. Thus Rackham turning back for Nassay in 3x05 does not happen a day after Rogers learns of the missing cache, but at least 3 days after. We do see a small scene of Rackham and Anne hiding out in a cave, possibly a location connected to one of the tunnels beneath the fort.


	14. The Inappropriate

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rogers' men search the island for Rackham and Bonny. Eleanor confronts Mrs. Hudson. Rogers wants to set boundaries between them, but makes a mish mash of it. Then they learn that Rackham walked into town for a pardon. Rogers hopes to use reason to compell Rackham into giving up the cache. Max is not happy when she learns of Rackham's arrest, but is scolded by Eleanor, and Rogers is forced to be the intermediate between both women.

The tunnel search was time consuming. Nor was Eleanor entirely sure she had located each and every tunnel correctly. Landmarks might have altered. She possibly might even have forgotten one tunnel or another herself. The next day Rogers set out with her and Major Andrews in a carriage to the interior and all the various locations. One after the other turned out to have not been used for many years, and with each added negative result, Eleanor doubted her hunch more and more. By evenfall, Eleanor and Rogers arrived back in Nassau very much discouraged, until shortly after dawn, regulars rode hard onto the market square and roused Rogers and Eleanor from their sleep.

“You were right,” said Rogers as soon as she entered his office. “They found evidence of very recent use of _this_ tunnel.” Rogers planted his index finger on one of the remotest tunnel exits into a cave. “Ashes of a fire that were still warm, leftover food remains, empty jugs of water.”

“Did they find them?”

Rogers shook his head and grimaced. “They were too late, possibly but a few hours. The birds have flown.”

“But they are still on the island,” said Eleanor.

“For now.” Rogers slammed his palm on the desk in frustration. “The damnest luck!”

“Did they leave in fear of being found, or did the abandonment look planned?” Eleanor wanted to know.

“The latter I suppose. Why?”

Eleanor took a step closer to him. “That means they feel safe. They believe that we stopped looking for them. They will take their time and make a mistake.”

Rogers smiled, but bitterly. “It buys us only hours, at the most a day.” He heaved a deep breath. “Any news what the Spanish have to say yet?” Eleanor shook her head and Rogers rolled his eyes. “Well, I will go down to the beach to see the gold that we salvaged from the fort off.”

In all that time, she had not seen Mrs. Hudson. Eleanor had not wanted her service, and the woman had either gone into town or remained at her room. Initially, Eleanor had been shocked over Mrs. Hudson being a spy for the Spanish. Then she had been angry with Mrs. Hudson for being such a hypocrite. But as she walked to the woman’s room, she recognized that Mrs. Hudson had acted to protect Nassau and the governor by revealing the danger. Still, something about Mrs. Hudson’s spying did not add up. Mrs. Hudson was too righteous.

When Eleanor stood face to face with her false chambermaid, Mrs. Hudson pressed her lips together and lowered her eyes. For a traitor, Mrs. Hudson certainly appeared contrite. “Did you talk with your contact?”

“I did as you asked of me.” Mrs. Hudson lifted her chin. “They are very angry over the exchanged gold by men of the English colonies. It as an insult in their eyes.” Her voice trembled, “They said the governor must return all of it or they will hold him accountable if he cannot recover the other half of the exchanged cash.”

Eleanor closed her eyes and shook her head. “He did not steal it, nor exchange it.” Angrily and frustrated, she said, “They should be glad they are getting this much back already. It’s not as if they bothered to send their dread fleet to Nassau when Flint, Rackham and Vane were in control of the island.”

Mrs. Hudson’s expression became saddened and regretful. “I wish it were otherwise, miss.”

Standing before the door, Eleanor appraised the woman. “You worked in his household for years. He's not an unfair employer. You said so yourself. How much did they offer you then?”

“At first I was tempted,” whispered Mrs. Hudson. Then she straightened her back. “But in the end it felt wrong to betray the governor that way. And it felt dangerous so I declined.”

“Then how did this happen? How does an honest chambermaid end up in the employ of the Spanish empire?”

Mrs. Hudson looked away from Eleanor and sat down on her bed. “A few days after I declined their offer, I came home late from the governor's service.” Mrs. Hudson’s eyes glistened wet with tears. “It wasn't unusual for me to return home to find my children long since fast asleep.” She shook her head stiffly. “But that night, my children were not alone.” Mrs. Hudson heaved her breath and whispered, “The man who had approached me, Grandal, was there waiting. In his left hand, a knife. In his right, a purse. He said my children would receive something from him that night. He asked me to choose which.” She sniffed and tapped her frock with her hand in emphasis. “These are the people whom I am beholden to. This is what they are capable of doing.” Finally, the woman broke and sobbed, “I cannot imagine what they will do if the cache is not returned whole.”

Eleanor sighed. She could not remain angry with the woman. Mrs. Hudson was spying half a world away for her children’s lives. She might never see her children again. And if this story was true, then in fact it was a relief that it had been Mrs. Hudson who was the spy. At least she had a conscious, alerted the governor in time. Another spy might never have revealed what he or she knew at all. “Thank you for telling me,” Eleanor whispered.

Downstairs, Dyson informed Eleanor that the lord governor had left for the bay and expected her to join him there. So, as soon as she had finished her tea and bread, Eleanor left for the pier with two regulars for her escort. She passed men loading building material into a cart for the fort’s repairs. The street and front of houses and shops looked cleaner. There were small stalls of farm produce of the interior. Puritan women strolled through town, shopping and gazing at the mix of people, while their husbands inquired with skilled men offering their talent for prices. Captain Trockmorton and his crew, some of the first pirates who had laid down their arms, had started a personal transportation service with skiffs from the beaches nearer to the farmers to Nassau the day before.

Rogers stood on the small wooden pier, hands behind his back, overlooking the bay where one of the fleet’s ships was readied for departure. She lifted her red petticoat to climb the few steps onto the pier. As she joined Rogers’ side, Lieutenant Perkins arrived in a launch and walked towards the governor, holding a book under his arm. “Ship's manifest, sir. The entirety of the gold from the fort is now stowed and ready for transport to Havana.” Perkins opened the manifest and leafed through the pages to show it to Rogers. “We should be under way within the hour.”

“Put it in my office, please.” He furrowed his brow and took a deep breath of sea air.

Eleanor glanced at Rogers. “I just left Miss Hudson.”

He shook his head slightly as he looked out onto the bay. “I had the instinct once or twice, the way she'd been watching me of late. I dismissed it, just assumed it related to some concern over my relationship with you and its becoming inappropriate -” Rogers shook his head with a regretful grin, as if he had said too much.

Shocked, Eleanor stared at him. Rogers had never made any allusion to it, nor reproached her for it. Until now, they had both acted as if the kiss had never happened. The search for Rackham had pushed it all to the background, and no harm had come to their working relationship. He had been somewhat more distant than before, less talkative too. It was as if they had reversed back to the professional half familiarity between them as when she had helped him with the address, except that he relied on her to be there on his beck and call at any given time of the day and night. _It's just as it ought to be;_ _what he hired me for_. Her angst over, she had picked the red dress with embroidered roses without giving it much thought that morning. _But now, he decides to refer to it. Did I not behave appropriately since then?_

Rogers turned his head and looked at her. “What did she say?” he asked her in a much softer voice. “Did she report that we're earnestly attempting to find and return the missing money?”

“It's not about the money for them, not anymore. When the gold from the Urca was stolen, it was bad enough," she said and Rogers rolled his eyes. “Now they hear the gold is being converted into something more easily hidden from them, more easily smuggled away. That isn't theft. It's an insult. And insults to empires require answers.”

Rogers lifted his eyebrows and grinned sarcastically. “So, it's personal, then?” He stepped toward a post of the pier and leaned on it with one hand. “A binary question of my trustworthiness. Either I return the full cache and prove it or I fail, and in trying to excuse the shortfall, only aggravate their existing suspicion that I am part of the pirate problem, not its solution. And the dread fleet in Havana sets sail the very next day to raze all of Nassau to the ground.”

“Then we'll fight them, defend the island!” Eleanor urged him, anxious about his cynical tone, wanting to give him hope. He turned his head and looked at her. “The odds would be dire, but we are not without resources.”

“No, not _we_ ," he interrupted her to her confusion. “Someone might fight them, but it won't be _you and I_. If the result of my endeavor here is a Spanish attack against British forces, an act that threatens to drag the empire into a war, I would be recalled to London and likely debtors' prison and your capital sentence would be reinstated.

 “Now, I believe Nassau's best chance at survival is with me guiding it. But if _we_ cannot find Jack Rackham and Anne Bonny, if _we_ can't find the cache in their possession, whatever happens to Nassau, _you and I_ are likely finished.” Rogers gazed at her intensely out of the corner of his eyes. Eleanor lowered her eyes.

As both of them waited for the Captain to take his leave from Rogers and see the gold sail off for Havana, each of them pondered the conversation differently. Eleanor realized that there would be no rewards given for simply trying to find the cash, or trying to move on from Nassau’s past. They had to succeed. There simply was no alternative.

Meanwhile, Rogers wondered what the hell he had meant to say to her. For it were not Eleanor’s words about defending the island that had provoked him, nor her failure to understand the full gravity of their situation, but her reference to _we_. Neither him, nor her could be allowed to see themselves as such. He was the governor, her employer, English, and a married man. She was a convict, his employee, a Nassau and a single woman without family that would lift a finger to protect her. They had both forgotten it, when they had kissed. Rogers had pretended it had not happened, behaved properly, hoping to master his conflicted feelings. He had thrown himself at the work – and work certainly threw itself at him. But Eleanor was an almost constant companion at some of the oddest hours and often without anyone around, not even the spying Mrs. Hudson. Eleanor was most certainly indispensible, enthusiastic and committed to seeing him succeed. So, he could not fault her behavior over the past two days, nor could he send her off for practical reasons either anymore as he had tried to do the day after the kiss. And yet, it made it all the more difficult for him.

When she had retreated to her room during the dinner with Chamberlain, he barely managed to listen to the commodore anymore. He disliked the situation of his own creation and his mind wandered to her in her room. He had actually considered to knock on her door and ask after her health that night, but then decided not to at the last minute. Instead, he had gone to his office to study plans. When Eleanor then burst into his office, while he was only half dressed, for one short moment he even hoped she would threw herself at him, and he had felt a pang of disappointment too when she did not. As she then sat down for hours figuring out where each tunnel exit could be, and he had all the time in the world to admire her figure, her stamina and intelligence and be warmed by her commitment to his cause. Yesterday, she never uttered a complaint over riding criss cross through the interior in the carriage, even though she had been so exhausted by the end of the day that she fell asleep on the drive back. As her head had involuntarily came to rest on his shoulder, he had been infused with a tenderness he had not felt for anyone for a long time. When Rogers had learned that very morning that evidence of Rackham’s whereabouts in the tunnels had been found and Eleanor showed up in the passionate red dress, Rogers realized that Eleanor would have made a far better wife that would suit his needs, tastes, nature and ambitions in ways that Sarah never could. Well, apart from the fact that she was a convict.

So, despite both of them behaving properly since the kiss, Rogers was very much aware that his feelings were inappropriate – feelings he could not escape when the situation demanded them to continue to work together so intimately. And yet, it was preferable than not having her near him. Admiring her proved less distraction than missing her. He was convinced though that Eleanor was aware of his admiration, how he watched her when she studied the map, or walked this and that way in search for a landmark. He feared it might give her hope. So, he had finally decided to at least address their situation. _I must set the boundaries_ , he thought over and over, as he waited for her to join him on the pier. And he had rehearsed to himself how to say it. But as soon as the words were spoken, he felt like he was inappropriately scolding her for his feelings. She could hardly be blamed for that. While Rogers wanted to remind her that there could not be a _we_ \- him the governor and she the convict - he somehow ended up telling her there could only be hope for them to be together if they found Rackham and recovered the cache.

Lieutenant Perkins returned to the pier and hesitated. Rogers looked the young man up and down. “Something wrong, Lieutenant?”

“No, sir!" Perkins raised himself high. "Quite the opposite. The regulars arrested a man in the tavern who filed in line for a pardon, claiming to be John Rackham .”

“We have Rackham?” Rogers glanced at Eleanor, hardly believing the issue with Spain might actually be over and done with soon.

“Yes, sir. They have him in your office.”

Rogers sighed in relief. “Tell the captain to hold off the departure for Havana. We may have an extra load for him within the day.”

“Was there a woman with him as well?” Eleanor asked.

Perkins shook his head. “Major Rollins made no mention of a woman.”

“So, no Bonny,” mumbled Eleanor.

As they walked back to Nassau’s market, Rogers repeated, “A pardon?” in amazement. He chuckled. _Rackham is either stupid or very brave. Maybe both._

“If Anne is not in Nassau, then she has the cache,” said Eleanor.

“Beg pardon?”

“There is no separating those two. I know some have tried, but ultimately they always stick together. Jack had a plan when he returned to Nassau for the pardon.”

Rogers stopped and studied Eleanor’s furrowed brow as they walked up the steps of the mansion and into the hallway. Major Rollins rushed forward to give Rogers the good news, but he held his hand up, signaling to wait for a moment. “What do you mean?”

“That Jack wanted that pardon, but not to stay in Nassau. Otherwise Anne would have been there. Jack always wanted to make a name for himself. If say Rackham took a skiff to Port Royal and got on a ship to the Continent, with Anne Bonny and the chest, what would he be required to do?”

At first, Rogers was not sure what Eleanor was getting at, but then he said, “He would have to travel under a false name.”

“Exactly!” Eleanor said. “Anne would not care about a false name, but Rackham, former quartermaster of Charles Vane, Captain of the Colonial Dawn who stole the treasury from Spain, pirate king of Nassau and partner of Vane and Flint? He would detest it. He wanted a pardon so that he could travel and live wherever he wants, while keeping his name, with the cash and Anne by his side and without fear of being hunted.” 

Rogers chuckled. “Well, he can keep his name, be pardoned and live wherever he wishes with Bonny, in exchange for the cache.”

Major Rollins finally moved forward, and Rogers said, “Congratulations, Major. Lieutenant Perkins already informed me that your men have him.”

“Yes, sir. Upstairs.”

“Splendid work,” smiled Rogers. He started on the stairs, while Eleanor followed. “Tell me more about Rackham. What kind of man is he?”

“Proud, cares tremendously about what people in general think of him. He dresses well, reads, and he is smart. He is not the greatest fighter there is, but he has Anne for that.”

They had arrived at the landing, near his apartment. “You say that you think the two of them are still working together. And yet, you also told me once that Rackham chose Max over Anne when his crew made him choose which of the two could have a share.”

“Yes.” Eleanor frowned. “The situation was complicated. Without Max for the leads, he would have been unable to hunt anything. Anne was distraught over it. But they can’t do without each other, not for long.” Eleanor looked into his eyes and they hazed over for a moment. She blushed and lowered her head. “He saved her from abuse when she was thirteen, and they have been together ever since.”

“He cares for her,” Rogers said softly, looking into her face.

“Y-yes. And she is not whole without him.”

Eleanor had no idea why she said that. Eleanor and Anne never got along much. There had been that one time where Anne had sought her help to liberate Max from her rapists. Eleanor had John Silver plant black pearls in Jack's tent to make the men suspect Jack of double crossing them. Anne and Eleanor's plan could have cost Jack's life. Instead, with the help of Eleanor's fighters all eight were slain. Anne seemed to have never revealed Eleanor's role in it, at least not to Max. All of this had been the reason why Eleanor had not put Anne on the list of targets to be assassinated – that and the fact that Anne was actually in Port Royal at the time, working for Max. That had been the last Eleanor had known of Anne’s whereabouts when she herself was taken by Hornigold. And yet, for some reason, Eleanor had always continued to think of Jack and Anne as inseparable, even idealized them in a way. Then, Eleanor realized she had not been talking about Anne at all.

For a short moment they stood staring at one another in the corridor. And it seemed to Rogers that while he might be the current occupant of the same office and apartment that Rackham lived in little over a week ago, Rackham had something that he had to deny himself. Rogers shook his head, grinned and turned towards the double doors. “Well, it is time for me to meet this man, I think.”

Eleanor nodded and hastened away, while Rogers straightened his blue-green calico waistcoat and justaucorps, his finest. He swung the doors open with a grand gesture and a wide smile, full of anticipation. A tall, meager chap with finely trimmed sideburns and moustache, dark hair and dark eyes turned his head around to look at him. Though the man’s calico justaucorps was worn and stained, it was evident he was particular about his appearance.

“Captain Rackham,” Rogers smiled. “It's a pleasure to finally meet you.” Rackham gaped at him, mystified. “Give us the room, please,” Rogers told the two regulars guarding the prisoner. “Drink?” asked Rogers.

“Thank you,” Rackham said with some relief. He spoke the immaculate English of high class London. Though he was no son of high class, Rackham certainly had done all he could to appear a cultured, educated man.

Rogers walked to the cabinet set against the southern wall, opened the glass container and poured red wine in a crystal glass. “I apologize for the strangeness of this meeting. I know you and I don't know each other.”

“I know you some. I read your book,” Rackham said reticently with his back to Rogers. He wiped his finger across Rogers’ desk, while Rogers sealed the wine decanter with a glass cork.

“Did you?” Rogers said amused. He set the glass of wine on the desk for Rackham and walked to the other side of the desk.

“Well, most of it. I confess, I may not quite have soldiered through to the end. But, you know, I got the gist of it.” Rackham raised his glass to Rogers standing near the window, and Rogers raised his with a polite smile in return.

It did not escape Rogers’ notice that Rackham tried to make a dig at him. _That is perhaps the deviousness Eleanor warned me about._ So, before sipping from his own wine, Rogers frowned and said, “If you don't mind my asking, what did you take to be its gist?”

Rackham stared at the desk in thought before answering. “Wealthy son of a wealthy man takes to the sea to prove something to the parents, presumably. Seeks adventure, finds the limits of his own capacity. Loses everything in the process and then stumbles upon a hell of a story.”

Rogers raised his eyebrows. One could tell a great deal about a man in the way they perceived you, judged you. It was so with Chamberlain, who marveled at Rogers’ adventures, but considered Rogers a reckless man. Rackham focused more on wealth and luck, and thought he saw a parental complex in it. _Interesting_.

It must have shown on his face, because Rackham said, apologetically and insincerely, “Please understand, I'm quite particular about my library, but people seem to have liked it fine, and it seems to have done wonders for you. So congratulations on all that.” Rackham took his glass and downed it.

 _Before me, sits an envious man_. “Thank you.” Rogers sat down in his chair. “All of that notwithstanding you and I share an experience in this place. And as such, I'm hopeful that you'll understand why it is I brought you here today and what it is I'm about to ask of you.”

Rackham nodded and squinted. “What's that?”

“I know you removed a significant amount of gold from the fort. I know it is in your possession, and I need you to give it up.” In a lower voice Rogers added, “Or we're all dead.”

First, Rackham looked stunned, then annoyed. But finally Rackham squinted one eye, rose, folded his arms and paced the office. His previous passive aggressive attitude had evaporated. “Spain knows about the exchanges?”

“They do, and they are displeased.”

Rackham rolled his head and shoulders, turned towards the desk, reached for his empty glass and stepped towards the cabinet. “How do you know they know?” He put the glass down on the cabinet with a chink and reached for the decanter, looking sideways to Rogers to be permitted to touch his things. Rogers signaled it was fine by him. Rackham shook his head, and poured himself another glass. “So what does that look like? Return it all or it's the Rosario Raid all over again?”

“Something like that.” As Rackham leaned onto the cabinet, Rogers hoped to make a connection with the man. “I understand why you did it. I know what it feels like to lose everything and feel powerless to do anything about it. The temptation to keep something to show for it all, I understand it.” Rackham downed his second glass. “But it does not change the reality we face. That you face. For I assure you, if Spain invades over this, yours will be the first face they see.”

Rackham turned to look at him, then stared at the wall before him and sighed. “I heard Henry Avery's name when I was a boy, heard the way people spoke it - grown men in awe of it. I came to this place so determined to do the same. That's not going to happen the way I thought it was, is it?”

“It never does,” said Rogers softly. He rose out of his chair, and met Rackham halfway, seating himself on the end of his desk, facing the same direction as Rackham. “My advice? You want some say in how they speak of you? Write a book.” Rackham chuckled bitterly. “Right now, what do you want to do?”

“Do you have a pen?”

Rogers gave Rackham paper, ink and plume as Rackham sat down at the desk. And as Rackham wrote his letter to his partner, Rogers filled Rackham’s glass for a third time.

“Here.” Rackham held out the letter for Rogers to read, never meeting his eye.

Rogers put the glass of wine down for Rackham, took the letter and read it. It was written in a flowery hand, with big curls and loops. The language was eloquent. It instructed Anne to trust the man who gave her the message, to come to Nassau immediately, with the cache. As far as Rogers could see, Rackham’s letter asked exactly what he wanted. He smiled. “Thank you, Captain Rackham. I will see this letter dispatched immediately. In the meantime, relax, make yourself at home as we wait for your partner to hand over the cache. After that, you are a free and pardoned man.“

“Anne will be mistrustful of anyone but myself approaching her,” said Rackham. “So, send only one messenger to deliver my letter.”

“All right.”

“She might appear threatening at first. So, tell your man not to provoke her. She can be violent if she feels cornered.”  

Rogers pursed his lips and nodded. “Seems reasonable. I do not want to see any harm come to you or her.”

Rackham turned and met Rogers’ eyes, leaning his elbow over the back of the chair. “Your man can find her at the North-East beach if he takes the eastern interior road.”

"Very much obliged to you, Captain Rackham, for seeing things so clearly and make both our lives a little easier." Rogers gave Rackham a curt nod, left his office, closed the door and met Eleanor further down the corridor. He waved the letter at her with a triumphant grin. As they went down the stairs, Rogers assured her of Rackham’s cooperation. Perkins met them the bottom of the stairs, and Rogers placed the letter into his hand. “Give this to Lieutenant Hersey. Have him prepare to depart for the interior. I'll pass him details momentarily.” He walked towards the table with a map of the island, leaned on the table and searched for the coordinates that Rackham had given him.

Eleanor urged, “He should be made aware Anne will not be taken lightly.”

“Well, neither will Lieutenant Hersey,” he assured her. But then Rogers’ attention was drawn to the young woman with dark hair and skin like warm sand sauntering into the Assembly Hall with rustling brown silks.

“I understand Jack was arrested today,” said Max angrily. “I would like to know why.”

Rogers exchanged a glance with Eleanor. _Here is the first test of Max’s loyalty_. But before Rogers could explain anything to Max, Lieutenant Hersey reported for duty. “You’re to ride for the eastern interior road to the rocky coast with two more men.” He pointed his finger to the location that Rackham had described. “You will find Bonny there.” Rogers glanced at Eleanor, a cue that she understood.

“She wears a long coat and hat, dressed like a man as it were,” said Eleanor to Hersey.

“She will be suspicious, so you must approach her alone, and with great caution for yourself and her. Keep the others out of sight. Hand her Rackham’s letter.  Do not harm her, for only she knows where the cache is.”

Max squinted at the both of them. “What is going on?”

Rogers ignored Max. “Do you understand, Lieutenant. Only draw your sword against her if you absolutely must in self defense. Ride with haste. The sooner this is all over and done with, the better.”

“Sir,” the man clicked his boots and left.

Eleanor turned to Max and hissed, “Spain knows. They know you exchanged your share of the gold in gems, and how much exactly. And if we do not give all of it back to Spain then Nassau burns.”

“They know?” said Max with eyes as wide as saucers.

Eleanor rolled her eyes, but Rogers smiled at Max. “Yes, unfortunately.”

“Jesus!”

“The whole thing is an insult of the gravest sort to them,” Eleanor said angrily. “How you ever came to believe that Spain would never find out is beyond me. You put us all in danger!”

Max arched her back and looked at Eleanor haughtily, but Rogers silenced Eleanor with a lifted finger and then smiled at Max. “Forgive her words spoken in heat. We have had several sleepless nights over this, fearing we all might be dead if we could not locate Rackham and his partner before they escaped the island. Do you now understand why I am holding Rackham in my office?”

Max noticed the manner in which Eleanor and Rogers communicated and understood each other without needing a word. It was not unlike another pair she knew. Prickly, Max turned away from Eleanor. “Yes, it is all clear to me now. I guess this means I am no longer part of the council?”

Eleanor bristled, and Rogers gently laid his hand on Eleanor’s arm. “I see no reason for that. As far as I know, you realized your mistake and handed over your share of the gems to me the first night of our arrival so I could give it back to Spain. And so you proved yourself to act in Nassau’s best interest and worthy of a council seat.”

Max chuckled. _Let nobody claim the governor is without wits._ “What about Rackham and Bonny?”

“Rackham understood when I explained the predicament we might be in otherwise. He wrote a letter to Anne to surrender the cache to us.” Rogers smiled at Max. “And then he and she will be free to go and come as they please.”

Max glanced up at him, then at Eleanor. “May I see Rackham?”

“Of course.”  Rogers gestured to the stairs. “You know your way, already.”

Max straightened her shoulders, lifted her skirts and went upstairs. Meanwhile, Rogers turned, only then realizing he still held Eleanor’s wrist in order to keep her temper in check. He let go. “Are you done?”

Still clearly upset, Eleanor looked away from him. “She never thinks what the consequences of her actions may be for others!” 

“Do you always consider the consequences of your actions?” he reprimanded her. Eleanor turned her head and gaped at him. “You could have cost me the street with your outburst.”  And as he looked at her, she lowered her eyes, ashamed. Rogers shook his head and sighed. “Well, it will soon be over and then we can rest all easy, knowing all of the cache and gold is on its way to Spain.”


	15. The Villain

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rackham played Rogers. As Rogers attempts to control his anger, yet lashes out at Eleanor, Max sees no other way to protect herself, Eleanor and Nassau from Spain and Rogers by persuading Anne Bonny to surrender the cache. When Rogers is convinced that Anne will do this, he is finally able to face Rackham.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter starts to explore Rogers' character far more - that side of him that lurks beneath the surface and that he has learned to mask with benevolence. This far darker aspect of Rogers we learn is part the cause of the permanent breach with his wife. But he also seems to be aware of this violence lurking within him and knows how to use it to his advantage to get what he wants, and he's not dirty of using manipulation in whatever form himself.

Close to an hour later, however, Max came down the stairs, stiffly and pale as fawn. Eleanor leaned into Rogers who was discussing the delayed shipment for Havana with the captain and whispered, “Something is amiss.”

Briskly, Eleanor hastened up the stairs with lifted skirts. Max met Eleanor’s eyes. “H-he played you.”

“What?” said Eleanor, just when Rogers joined them.

“The letter. It was written to look like it said what you wanted, my lord, but in such a way that Anne would know it really meant ‘run and take the cache’.”

“Sir! Lord Governor!” One of the regulars that had left with Hersey ran inside the assembly hall.

Rogers whirled around and raced down the stairs. Eleanor could not overhear what the young man told Rogers, but she ran after the both of them through the hallway and the front steps, where the body of Lieutenant Hersey lay doubled over his white stallion. “Jesus!”

“She killed him, sir,” said the young man, stating the obvious. “When it took too long for Lieutenant Hersey to return, we scouted ahead and found him slain. There was no one else to be seen.”

Rogers locked his jaw and gritted through his teeth, “See to his funeral rites.”

Max stared at the lieutenant, hand before her mouth, shaking her head in denial.

“You will tell me whatever that _friend_ of yours upstairs in my office has told you,” ordered Rogers. “Why?” Max opened her mouth and could not make a sound. “Get her a glass of water,” he waved, and accompanied her to the salon.

As soon as the servant arrived with the pitcher, Eleanor poured a glass for Max and gave it to her. “Tell us, Max. Why did Jack deny us the cache?”

Max heaved a deep breath. “He would rather see Nassau burn, than have you win your conquest.”

“Oh, for the love of –“ Rogers rumbled.

“He sees this as a duel,” Max said, coming back to herself. “Either you leave, recognize your defeat and then he can be pirate king again, or Nassau burns and everyone will know a new Pirate Republic was born out of its ashes because of him.”

Shock and rage fought for dominance on the governor’s expression. He finally managed to say, “It seems Rackham ensured himself a _devious legacy_.” He looked passed the hallway at the stairs, at Max, at Eleanor, the men rushing through the hallway, and then he walked out towards the west wing. “Out!” he commanded to whomever was there, and slammed the door closed.

Eleanor half expected to hear evidence of Rogers trashing the sitting room, but when all remained eerily silent, she took a step towards the west wing. Max grabbed her wrist and shook her head. “He wants no witnesses, not even you.”

Eleanor drew Max aside. “Rackham is mad if he thinks Rogers will run. England will not let go of Nassau. They might hang me and maybe appoint another governor, but England wants New Providence as their southernmost colony to sail ‘round the Americas, for their expeditions, for control on trade in the New World. They will not allow the rise of a new pirate republic, not after Flint and Charles halted all trade with the colonies. Jack may win a battle, but he cannot win the war. His sole legacy will be that he got people killed.”

“How can you be so sure?” Max asked.

“I sailed with his men for two months, Max. I saw London. He has the king, Whitehall, the Admiralty, his investors and the proprietors of Carolina behind him.”

“Who is he to get that much people behind him?”

“He’s a merchant, privateer and explorer.”

“A privateer? You mean a pirate?” said Max in surprise.

“In Spain’s eyes yes. Rogers took two Manila galleons during the wars with Spain with just two frigates. Not even Flint can say that. What did Jack do? Stood on a beach, killed some Spanish, weak from sickness, and stole the gold from a storm wreck.”

Max frowned. “So, you are saying that it is in our best interest to make our peace with English rule, because it will happen, whether we live or die, and that Rogers may truly be our best friend who may understand us the most.”

“Yes.”

“He does appear rather harmless, not the tyrannical man they all feared,” said Max. “Unfortunately Jack took that as a sign of weakness.”

“He is very much mistaken. There is only one man I can think of that might match Rogers in tenacity, willpower and achievement – Flint, and he’s dead.”

Rogers reemerged from the sitting room, his hair tidy and his waistcoat and justaucorps all in order. “Major!” he called to Rollins. “Lock Rackham up in my fort and put him in chains. And someone fetch me Captain Hornigold.” Then he settled his gaze on Max. “You will join us for dinner.” It was not a request.

Trembling, Max eyed Eleanor strangely and then curtsied Rogers. “It would be my honor, my lord.”

“Good,” he said, but Eleanor could hear the anger that lingered in his voice. “I want to hear every precise word of your conversation with Captain Rackham.”

In retrospect, Eleanor found the dinner with Chamberlain two nights before pleasant in comparison to Max reciting Jack’s words. Gobsmacked at how quickly Rogers managed to win people over to do his bidding, only because he stood on a beach and said please, Jack wanted to destroy Nassau in some personal measuring competition with Rogers. It was chilling at what length Rackham wanted to go. Rogers listened to Max’s words in icy silence.

“Rackham said he will deny you the cache, no matter what sort of inducements you offer or what pain you may inflict him,” said Max.  
  
Lieutenant Perkins entered. “Sir, Captain Hornigold has arrived, awaiting your orders.”

“Send him to my office. We will join him in a minute.” As Rogers rose from his chair, Max looked at Eleanor for guidance. Eleanor nodded and left the table after Rogers and indicated Max to follow them.

The former pirate captain turned pirate hunter squinted at Max alongside Eleanor, before he said, “My lord, you have Rackham imprisoned in the fort?”

“Indeed,” said Rogers far more calmly than Eleanor expected him to. “He managed to take a cache from the treasury out of the fort that is now in his partner’s possession.”

“Anne Bonny.”

“Yes,” said Rogers darkly. At least, Captain Hornigold had the decency to blush. He let the pair slip through his fingers. “I want her and the cache found. She murdered one of my men today, who made peaceful contact with her and posed no threat to her.”

“That does sound like Anne Bonny, my lord.”

Rogers did not smile. “Now she is on the run, with horse, cart and cache. My regulars can help search, but they are not yet too familiar with the interior.” He turned his back to them all and stared out of the window onto the market square. “Your men do know the terrain. Rally them. Search every tunnel, empty house, bush, and cave of this island and find her.” As an afterthought, he said, “Alive.” Rogers walked to his desk, rolled open a map and pointed at a drawn cross drawn onto it. “You can start here. This is where Lieutenant Hersey was killed.”

Captain Hornigold stepped to the desk, put his head to the side and pursed his lips. “Will there be a reward?”

 “Five hundred sterling for the men who find her alive and the cache.”

“That will certainly do,” smiled Hornigold. Rogers returned to the window, his hands behind his back and his fingers twiddling. “Um, I will see right to it.”

“Thank you, Captain.”

Immersed in silence, Rogers stared out of the window and leaned his hand against the wall, while Hornigold gathered his posse on the market square. Max glanced at Eleanor, while Eleanor felt dread build inside. For some reason, she felt that Rogers held her accountable for it. And yet, she could not see what they could have done different.   

Finally, Rogers broke his brooding silence. “Earlier today, before we knew Rackham was still on the island, you seemed confident that we could locate him and his friend in time. You said it was possible because they didn't know that we were looking for them. Why do I get the feeling, now that they do know, now that they've made it their personal crusade to see this regime fail, that your estimate will be far less optimistic?” Not once did he look at her. Not even a glance.

 _He does hold me responsible_. “The militia will help! It will keep the pressure on, and perhaps we'll get lucky.” She knew how empty it sounded though. “But if we don't, then you may have to be prepared –“

He turned his head. “Oh, I'm prepared to do anything.” He stepped away from the window and closed in on her. He never raised his voice, nor shouted, and yet every word felt like a blow landing. “Anne Bonny _must_ be found! The cache _must_ be found! Right now, that is all that matters.” Eleanor lowered her eyes, her heart beating in her throat. She cringed under his accusing stare. He turned and ambled back towards the window. “And that said, the goodwill that we have engendered among the people of Nassau is not without limits. The longer this drags out, the riskier it becomes, because if I find that money only to lose the street–“

“You will not,” said Max softly. Both Eleanor and Rogers tuned and looked at her.“If you have me, then you have the street. I am all the reassurance they need. Yes, Jack and Anne were my partners, my friends. More. But now they have made themselves something else to me.” Max sounded incensed too, for the first time that day. “I have sacrificed too much to build something here. I will not let them take it away.”

For the first time that evening, Rogers met Eleanor’s eyes for silent confirmation on Max’s assurance. He turned away again. “You can go, now.” As Max and Eleanor started towards the doors, he said in a low voice, “Not you.”

Neither woman doubted that Rogers meant Eleanor. Max walked out, looking over her shoulder at Eleanor with worry, before closing the door. Eleanor sighed and lowered her eyes. There was nothing _Max could do for her. She would face the brunt of his wrath as bravely as she could_ _._ Eleanor waited, her hands folded in front of her. Rogers remained with his back to her. And yet, as the silence endured, and she could only hear the sound of crickets and his breathing, her dread evaporated slowly. A sigh escaped from his lips, and she knew his anger had subsided. Going against protocol, Eleanor sat down and studied the map. Rogers sat down himself, took up paper and pen and made notes. It finally dawned on her that he simply wanted her to be there -that for some reason her company soothed his rage.

As he scribbled away, Eleanor got up and rearranged books and maps that lay about. Rogers gave her a fleeting look and then returned to his writing. “Should I inquire what Max meant by _more_ _than friends_?”

She picked up a book, leafed through it and walked to his closet. “Perhaps not.”  She put it back where she thought it belonged.

He dipped his plume in the ink. “Do you think she knows where Anne Bonny might seek shelter in the coming days?”

Eleanor came around his side of the desk. “Yes.”

“Would she be willing to contact her?”

“Yes,” Eleanor whispered, trailing her finger alongside the corner of his desk.

Rogers laid the plume down, leaned his elbow on the back of his chair, and his other hand on the desk. “And?”

She met his eyes. “And she will try to convince Anne to give up the cache.”

Rogers started to smile and nodded. “Perhaps you should call on Max tomorrow morning.”

Eleanor smiled back. Rogers had put on an elaborate stage in front of Max, hinting how his simmering anger might turn violent to Eleanor, provoking Max to feel sympathy for Eleanor. Unwittingly, Eleanor had played into his hand when she compared Rogers to Flint. “That was well played,” she said. “Incidentally, may I ask – you were truly outraged though?”

“I was. I am, at the man sitting in my fort.” He relaxed back in his chair and folded his hands in his lap. “Anger can be a tool. But it is only useful if you can be its master, rather than that it masters you.”

“ _Will_ you hurt him?”

“If I have the cache, Rackham can go and be free as he pleases. If I don’t and Spain attacks us, I’ll hang him from the shortest rope I can find.” Eleanor felt a slight chill across her back, when she heard him talk so pragmatically. “But I won’t torture him. It yields more nonsense than anything worthwhile.” Rogers rose and nodded at her. “It is late.” He gestured his head to the night sky outside. “You should get some sleep.”

Once outside, Eleanor leaned her back against the door she had just closed behind her. She closed her eyes and wished she had the courage to go back inside. But then she straightened her stomacher and left for her own apartment.  

When Eleanor arrived at the tavern the following day, Max hastened her into her office. “Did they find Anne?”

“No.” Eleanor shook her head. “I fear it is a wild goose chase.”

Max sighed . “I think I may be of help.” Eleanor held her breath. Max’s green-brown eyes studied Eleanor and then she looked down at her feet. “I think I know where Anne may go to hide. There is a cave system. It would be of no use to try and apprehend there. It would be too easy for her there to kill a great many soldiers before they can overpower her. And even if they do, they would never find the cache. But if I go there, alone, I might be able to contact her. I can holler her a message, that Jack has been arrested by the governor and that I wish to help her.”

Eleanor took a few steps towards Max. “Do you believe that could work?”

Max looked up, into Eleanor’s eyes. “She trusts me. She and I …All I want is what is best for all of us – for them to be unhurt and together, and for us to have a new start.” Max frowned. “The governor was very angry, yesterday.” Hesitantly and petulant, she said, “That cold, deadly fury that makes people think everyone is their enemy and order everyone killed.”

Eleanor sighed. “He was outraged, and understandably so.” Eleanor pressed her lips together. “But he is a good man, forgiving, reasonable and pragmatic.”

“I feared a little for you, last night.” Max had seen latent violence simmering beneath the surface of the governor’s controlled appearance. Eleanor seemed to be drawn to men who could be extremely violent or hateful, seeking their love, protection and approval. It had been so with Vane and her father, and she had admired Captain Flint. After the governor had turned his ire onto Eleanor, chastising her like her father, Max half expected Eleanor to show up with a bruise the next day.

Eleanor put her head sideways and smiled. She shook her head a little. “I am at his mercy since the day he lifted me out of my prison cell.” She lowered her eyes and strolled towards the window. “He is a merciful man.”

Max’s eyes lingered on Eleanor’s profile for a moment longer. “Hmmm,” she said. “Would he be merciful to Jack and Anne if he has the cache?”

“Yes.” Eleanor saw the puritan women of the interior strolling on the swept street, regulars marching past, a farmer haggling with a former pirate.

“Jack and Anne could walk?”

“Yes. He has no interest in hunting them for their past. He only wants the cache to appease Spain. Besides, letting Jack walk would engender more goodwill towards the governor.” Eleanor turned to look at Max. It was here that she had to make a gamble. “The question is whether Anne can see reason. She is loyal to him to a fault.”

“I could try.”

“And what if Anne says, ‘fuck reason, fuck you, I do as Jack told me to do’?” Eleanor stepped away from the window. “What will you say then? You know chances are higher that Anne says no, than yes.”

Max pursed her lips. “I could make it a hard choice for Anne.” She strolled through the office, tapping her finger on her lips. “Jack said that no amount of torture would make him give in. Anne will know Jack would resist. But how long can she suffer the thought of Jack being in pain, when she can save him by giving up the cache?”

Eleanor leaned against the back of a chair. “You know her better than I do.”

Two days later, Max requested an audience with governor Rogers and informed both Rogers and Eleanor that she had been able to make contact with Ann. “This morning, Anne came to my proposed meeting location. I persuaded her to believe that you were torturing Jack and that he still refuses to cooperate. I begged her to give up the cache on Jack’s behalf.”

Seated in his chair, one leg stretched out, Rogers raised his eyebrows. “I see. And?”

“She is going to do it.”

“She agreed to make the exchange? She said that?”

“No,” said Max sadly. “But neither can she bear the idea of Jack's torture. She will resist awhile. It will tear her to pieces. But sooner than later, she will acquiesce.”

Rogers dropped his hand onto the arm of his chair. “How can you know this for certain?”

Max opened her mouth but dared not speak. The type of relationship Max had with Anne was not just scandalous, but deadly. Rogers did suspect Max’s involvement with Jack and Anne was more complicated than a business partnership and friendship. Max had admitted it as much. But Eleanor knew he thought Max had an affair with Jack, not Anne. “She knows,” said Eleanor.

Max looked at her with gratitude. Rogers turned his head to Eleanor. She repeated the assertion. “She knows.”

Rogers looked from Eleanor back to Max. “Alright.” He lifted his hand again and leaned his elbow on the arm of the chair. “I will set up a location of exchange, in two days time. Regulars, more than one.” In his other hand, he held a letter and gesticulated with it. “She delivers the cache, and I will deliver her Captain Rackham, with the pardon. Same location, same time as where you met her.” Max opened her mouth, in surprise. Rogers shook his head and smiled, reassuringly. “I will not ask for the location, now. You can confirm it to me tomorrow. And I promise you that none of my men will follow you if you go there tomorrow.” He threw the letter down on the desk. “The sooner this is over, the better.”

Max pressed her lips closed and nodded. “I will do that.”

“Thank you, for your efforts, Max. You are a true friend.” He rose as Max left and turned towards Eleanor. “That seems to play out well, indeed.” He grinned. “Although I’m not so sure I like her telling tales of me torturing Rackham.”

“Only to Anne,” said Eleanor. “As far as everybody else knows, you are only holding Rackham and have Hornigold search for Anne to get the stolen cache back.”

“Hmmm.” He gathered the letter from his desk. “I will go downstairs and plan accordingly with Major Rollins to set up a team for the exchange.” He walked to the double doors. “In the meantime, could you inform Mrs. Hudson that contact has been made with Bonny and that we plan for her to deliver us the cache the day after tomorrow?”

“I will, yes.”

As Rogers discussed the organizational plans with his liaisons and men, one of the regulars posted at the entry of the assembly hall had a coughing fit. At first, Rogers did not mind him much, but as the coughing continued, Rogers studied the young man. He looked a greenish pale and sweated profusely. He went up to him.

The man cringed. “It’s just a cough, sir.” But the man’s effort to make less of it was foiled by a another fit that forced the man to stand down.

Rogers squinted. “I think not. Could be the grippe. But you are in no state to perform your duties. Report to Dr. Marcus and have him tend to your needs.” An hour later he dismissed a clerk with similar symptoms to his sick bed as well.

So far, Rogers had avoided a visit to Rackham in Fort Nassau. It had taken all the self-control he could muster not to rush upstairs to his office and beat Rackham to a bloody pulp when Max first informed him what Rackham had done. Instead he ended up hitting his fist to the wall of the sitting room, breaking the skin of his knuckles, after which he grabbed a pillow and held that against the wall to cushion the blow. As long as he had no good news regarding Bonny, Rogers had thought it best not to confront the scoundrel. But now that he was reassured of a positive outcome, he intended to pay Rackham a visit.

Together with naval Lieutenant Perkins, Rogers left for Fort Nassau and commended the men for their progress in the repairs of the fortress. As he approached Rackham’s cell, the regular standing guard sweated like a horse and coughed as bad as his clerk and the other soldier.

“Sir,” the regular said. “Touch of the grippe is all, sir. I'll be all right.”

Rogers sighed. “You're the third man to say as much to me in the last four hours. I'll see you relieved. Please report to Dr. Marcus immediately.”

“Yes, sir,” said the soldier as he opened the door to Rackham’s cell.

He bent his head, passed through the doorway and ambled toward the shape of a man huddled in the far corner, near the narrow open window that allowed daylight to drop in. “It's almost over, this unfortunate arrangement between you and I,” Rogers said in his softest, most pleasant tone.

Rackham turned around and squinted at Rogers. “What?”

“Contact was made with Anne Bonny. The situation was explained to her that the sooner she returns the cache, the better it would be for you. She was disturbed but, we believe, ultimately persuaded.”

“Disturbed?” murmured Rackham confused. And then his face turned sour as he understood. “You told her I was being tortured.”

“If the street would hear you were being mistreated, if they were to see you emerge from this place damaged or not at all, I'd risk losing them. I know this. I imagine you were counting on it, the notion that all you had left me were bad options guaranteed, ultimately, to serve your ends.” Rogers dropped his hand and took several steps closer. “This way, no one hears it but her. I get what I need, the island survives, and no one is harmed.” It was almost a velvety whisper. But his tone was far more resolute, when he said, “I face a number of dangers ahead in stabilizing Nassau. The one I will resist to the limits of my ability is to allow myself to be cast as its villain. When the cache is delivered, you'll both be free to do as you please.” He smiled as he nodded at Rackham whose features betrayed all the displeasure he must have felt at learning the table had been turned on him.

Rogers strolled back to the door, when Rackham asked him in a soft whisper, “Do you have a wife?”

He stopped, frowned and circled back around. “Beg pardon?”

Much louder this time, Rackham said, “Do you have a wife?”

Rogers did not see how that was any of Rackham’s business, but he would not lie either. “I do.”

From his corner, Rackham pressed his lips together and nodded. “How do you imagine she would feel if she were told you were suffering some awful, degrading abuse. And that the only way she could end it would be to betray your trust? How do you think she would feel if she betrayed you, knowing she likely lost that trust forever, and then learned the whole thing was based on a ruse?”

Unknowingly, Rackham had managed to hit a nerve. When he returned from his voyage five years ago, only to discover the amount of debt Sarah had accumulated, Rogers had been bitterly disappointed. Her family had been rich, her dowry substantial as was the sum put in her name after her father’s death. And yet, she had spent it all and more on the best, furniture, trinkets, parties for society. Rogers guessed she had probably done so to compensate for her loneliness. Her father never had taught her restraint. Despite knowing her reasons, Rogers could not forgive Sarah. He lost his brother to capture those galleons, all to cover the loss of half his merchant fleet taken by French pirates at Madagascar. And it had all been for nothing. He would have made more money by staying home than miss out on his family for three years.

Sarah grew awfully resentful of having to retrench, of being forced to sell her jewelry, her china, the house, the furniture, and live below what she called her rank. She accused him of being purposefully cruel to her. If only he could swallow his pride and turn to her brother - who had inherited the largest part of her father’s inheritance – for help. But his brother-in-law had a family of his own. Not even the coming of their fourth child could keep them from arguing. Sarah grew to hate him. And when little Thomas died, there was only blame and mistrust left between them where neither of them could forgive the other’s faults. When he saw no other option than to seek a mission at sea again to provide for his family and intended to leave her in Bristol with his far more frugal mother, not even allowing her to be the lady of the house, she told him that if he went out of that door, she would never see him again and he should not bother to come back at all. He never had.

“And no one was harmed,” spat Rackham. “We're all villains in Nassau. Don't think because you're new you're any different.”

The latter made Rogers chuckle. He rolled his eyes, knocked on the cell door and walked out.

.


	16. The Sea-Unicorn

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mrs. Hudson tells Eleanor and Rogers that Spain demands an extra gift from Rogers to placate their anger. Eleanor shares the bad news with Max, while Max warns her about the gossip she overhears in the tavern. Max gains a new insight. So does Eleanor during a stroll on the beach. Rogers reads the book his friend gave him.

The next day, Rogers and Eleanor sat in his office, overlooking the security plan for the exchange with Rogers compassing the perimeter. Max had confirmed earlier that Anne Bonny agreed to make the exchange the following day. The door was opened to let Mrs. Hudson in. Rogers looked up from the map. Eleanor expected to see a relieved Mrs. Hudson. Instead, Mrs. Hudson returned with a face stiff as the dead. It was worse even than when she revealed she was a spy for the Spanish intelligence.

“Were you unable to speak to your contact?” asked Rogers, standing.

“I did. I spoke with him.” She looked down, her eyes flicking left, then right. “I-I don’t know how to say this, but they demand more than the return of the gold and the cache.”

Eleanor gaped at her, while Rogers dropped his compasses. “More? What more can I give them?”

Mrs. Hudson swallowed. “They want Captain Rackham, the man who stole the gold from the Urca de Lima’s wreckage in the first place.”

“Jesus!” said Eleanor.

“They are proud and very angry!" said Mrs. Hudson as if she was telling them some rehearsed speech. "They want appeasement and would regard a pardon for Rackham further insult.”

Rogers’ brow darkened like that of a thunderstorm. He circled round to look out of the window onto the market square and street. “You can tell them, they’ll have him.”

As soon as the woman had left, Eleanor rose. “This is bad! If the street learns of this. Max set up the exchange. She gave her word to Anne.”

Rogers met her eyes squarely, defying her to disagree. “We have all the information we need – time and place. Max is in too deep now herself to betray it.”Eleanor was rendered speechless. He avoided her accusing eyes, staring ahead of him out of the window. “I could refuse and remind them this was not the original deal." Then he bowed his head. "But I have nothing to bargain with.”

Eleanor frowned. “Why do they ask for him only now? Why not before?”

“Because they did not know we had him, until today.” Rogers stepped towards her. He gestured his thumb towards the door and lowered his voice. “She told them, on purpose or by accident. What else did she tell them? Do they know you funded the operation to hunt the Urca with Flint, which cost them a Man O War? And what about Max. She was Rackham’s partner.”

 _Mrs. Hudson knows_ , Eleanor remembered. _And if she knows, Spain might too._ She felt the blood drain from her face at the thought alone.

 “If I refuse to give them Rackham, who might they demand instead? It is either Rackham - who wants to see Nassau burn - Max who gives me the street, or … _you_.” The last was a barely audible whisper, almost a sigh.

Eleanor’s heart beat rapidly and her breath was shallow, and not just because of the possibility of Spain wanting her for piracy. His deep blue eyes were full of worry. She felt the rest of the world around her drop away. She nearly took a step towards him, to repeat what she had done on the first evening in this office. But she remembered his remark on it being inappropriate, and so she glanced away and stepped back.

Rogers shook his head, as if coming out of a daze himself. “I do not begrudge the fool his freedom, but if Rackham had given me what I wanted three days ago, he would have been a free man already, and I could tell Spain to hunt him themselves." He strolled to his desk and rummaged through his notes. "Between Rackham, Max and you, the choice is quite simple.”

Eleanor put more distance between them, trying to regain her composure. Looking at the map, she was reminded of the location where the exchange was supposed to take place. “What about Anne? If she does not see Rackham -”

“A well armed ruse - a carriage. It  would appear as if he is in it. My men shall demand the cache first, take it and then ride off.”

“She might attack them,” Eleanor said. If this resulted in Anne’s death, she was not sure what Max would do. “She cannot come to any harm.” Eleanor shook her head. “Not even if she threatens to draw sword or pistol. Your men - they regard her as the murderer of Lieutenant Hersey. With the potential violence, how easy would it be for them –“

“I will order them not to provoke her, nor can they shoot or draw first.” Rogers nodded to her. “Only in the direst need of self-defense may they use force, preferably to disarm her. Their main objective is to get the cache and leave.”

Rogers noted that Eleanor touted her lips and furrowed her brow. “Anything wrong with that plan?”

She shook her head. “No, but the less the street knows about this, the better. He has friends inside town. His former crew took the pardons. What will they do if they learn their former captain is put on a ship to Havana?”

Rogers nodded. “You are correct. The cache and Rackham must needs to be put on board a ship at a secret location, of the coast of the island.”

“I should go and warn Max. We used her for this, even if she volunteered. If she finds out after the fact…”

“Go,” he said. “I will meet with my highest officers to divine a location and route.”

As Eleanor entered the tavern, she could not but help notice an alteration in its atmosphere. There were fewer customers and it was all more orderly. She supposed this was because a lot of men were laboring. When Max saw her, she rose immediately and took her to Eleanor’s former office in the back. “Does the governor require further –“ began Max nervously.

“Max,” Eleanor interrupted her, not wanting to leave her in any further illusion. “Spain demands Rackham to be sent to Havana along with the cache.”

Max opened her mouth, closed it again. Her eyes were wide with fright. “N-no, they can’t,” she stammered.

Eleanor edged closer. “Rackham will not be freed,” she said with the same gravity a judge once told her she would hang. 

Max turned away from her and leaned with both her arms on the desk, catching her breath. “I swore to Anne that these terms would be honored. Surrender the cache and Jack goes free! I gave her my word!”

“I know." It distressed Eleanor to see Max so hurt. "They changed the rules so very late in the game. We could resist, but we have nothing to bargain with. Were there anything I could do, were there anything the governor could do, I assure you, it would be done. But either Jack is surrendered with the gold or Nassau burns.”

There was a knock on the door. “Yes?” said Max, her voice wavering with tension.

All scrubbed up in a justaucorps and cravat, Featherstone entered with the books. “A few things that require your approval-” Eleanor looked apprehensively at Max, for Featherstone had been Rackham's quartermaster. Max stared at Featherstone as if he dropped in from another planet. Featherstone glanced at Eleanor, then Max. “Is everything all right?”

“Yes, what is it?” Max said defensively.

Featherstone gaped at Max, then smiled and shook his head. “My apologies. Nothing that can't wait.” To Eleanor he nodded. “I beg your pardon.” He left the office and shut the door.

Eleanor edged towards Max, wanting to show she was a friend. Max stepped away from her to the bottle of rum on the desk. Eleanor did not know what to say or do. Max poured herself a tin cup full of rum. She leaned on the desk with one hand and gulped down a good swallow of the liquor. “When the governor's men arrive at the transaction without Jack and Anne sees this, she will resist. I would humbly ask that the governor's men refrain –“

“They have been forbidden from firing first,” assured Eleanor her. This much she could do. “They've been forbidden from provoking her. They've been forbidden from using any violence against her at all unless in dire and unavoidable self-defense.”

Max turned her head and stared at Eleanor, confused. “Why?”

“Because I demanded it,” Eleanor whispered, with saddened eyes. “Out of respect for your partnership.”

Startled, Max avoided to meet her eye. She grabbed the bottle of rum and cup and carried them to the large open window that looked out over the bay. Violin music from within the tavern sounded even outside and floated back into the room. A horse and cart passed. “I do not know which is worse that she perish fighting for Jack or that she survive without him.” She poured more rum in her cup nd filled a second cup. “If it is even truly surviving, losing half of herself this way.”  Max pushed the second cup to the open space beside her – an invitation for Eleanor to drink with her.

Eleanor strolled to Max’s side, lifted the cup and drank. The two woman stood in silence next to each other and watched the goings-on in the street, at the beach and the bay. And the past was truly the past then.

“Shall we sit?” Max grabbed the bottle and set it on the high table beside the longue chaise. She eased herself down onto it, while Eleanor seated herself in the armchair. For a moment they were just two women, free from society, free to drink and get drunk, sit and speak without censure. Eleanor rested her elbow across the back of the armchair, slouching. Both sipped their rum, slowly feeling slightly inebriated.

“That fucking chair!” Max said as she glared at the offensive piece of furniture behind the desk.

Eleanor turned her head just enough to see it in the corner of her eye. _Yes,_ she thought, _hateful thing_.

“To gain it, it demands you win partners, call them friends, make them promises. To keep it, it demands you break them all.” Max stared at the chair with disgust. “One day when all is settled here, we should burn that fucking chair.”

 _And now she knows, now she understands_ , thought Eleanor as she watched Max, and brought the cup to her lips.

Tears glistened in Max’s eyes. “My God, how I hated you.” Eleanor lowered her cup without drinking and listened in dread. “There was a time in which I could not conceive of how I could ever forgive you. And in this moment, I am you.”

Eleanor laid her head sideways, and took a deep breath. “I think my footing in this moment is far more precarious than yours.”

“That is not what I hear.” Coy, Max glanced at Eleanor from the corner of her green-brown eyes.

“What does that mean?”

Max traced her cup’s rim with her finger. “Once pirates visited the inn and I heard what pirates said. Now that soldiers visit the inn –“

Eleanor rolled her eyes. “You hear what soldiers say.” She shrugged her shoulders and chuckled. “And what is it they're saying about me?” Eleanor sipped more rum, grinning at Max over the rim of her cup.

Max’s smile stiffened and she stared at the floor. “They say you are inseparable.” Eleanor’s heart skipped a long beat. There was no doubt in her mind that Max meant _him_. She suddenly felt like a night animal caught in the light of a torch. “They say he relies upon you more than any other.” Max met her eyes and whispered. “They sometimes say more.” Eleanor’s breath was shallow. Her breast heaved up and down. “Did you know his men speak this way?”

“No.” Eleanor lifted her chin. _His men think we are lovers_.

“It is only gossip for now, but sooner or later, it will affect him. Erode his support. Complicate the role he must play here,” drawled Max. Though she had drunk and sipped a whole cup of rum, Eleanor felt parched. Max’s words echoed into her head like a drill. Max looked at Eleanor with concern, with warnings in her eyes. “The governor's chair is no doubt as unforgiving as mine. It will demand the same kind of sacrifices and present the same sorts of dangers to those closest to him. You must know this as well. I will not insult you by offering you warnings of the dangers therein. But out of respect for our partnership, I thought you should know what is being said and also how near those dangers may very well be.”

She heard Max’s words, but the sound of her own blood rushing through her ears was louder. _Affect him… erode … complicate_ … She heard his voice again saying, “inappropriate”… _sacrifice… dangers… She’s saying I’m close to him; that it’s dangerous for me_ … Eleanor licked her lips and downed the rest of her cup. She felt lightheaded, woozy and as if she was about to burst out of her skin. And she could not keep a giggle down. “I think I have drunk too much of your rum. I must -”

“Yes, you should go.” Max watched her closely. “Clear your head,” she muttered and then looked sadly into her own cup.

That Eleanor admired the governor had been clear to her. And she had seen evidence of the pair having a fine tuned form of silent communication. But Eleanor’s wide-eyed response just minutes before, her surprise that people talked of them, and her attempt to hide behind a calm exterior, convinced Max that Eleanor was _drunk from love, not rum._ Max had seen enough young women that worked for her, in love with some favorite pirate or nowadays a soldier, to recognize the symptoms. _She even giggles like a woman in love when she hears others talk about him and her_.

 _I never saw her in love before, not like that_. That thought hit Max like a brick. She saw herself pleading on the floor with Eleanor to flee for Port Royal and start a new life there, together, that dreadful moment where Eleanor broke her heart. She had been so in love with Eleanor herself that she had been blind to the fact that Eleanor did not return those feelings. For months, Max had believed Nassau and business had been her rival for Eleanor’s heart. In her agony, Max wanted to take it all away, make Eleanor feel the same pain. _E _ven when Vane killed her father, you fucking hoped Eleanor would turn to you.__ Once she learned that someone had betrayed Eleanor to Hornigold, Max hoped that with Eleanor's inevitable death she would finally be free from her. _But it was not Nassau._ _It wasn’t her father or that fucking chair. It wasn’t Charles or Flint._ _She was never in love with you_. Though the realization hurt, like some old wound that had been festering for so long being torn open again, Max could not be angry with Eleanor anymore. Not her pain, not her anger could ever change the fact that Eleanor never loved her in that way, and had never meant to harm her, hardly even understood why it hurt her so. And in that moment, Max finally let go of her resentment.

Max was not wholly convinced whether governor Rogers returned such strong feelings for Eleanor though. That Rogers was comfortable and attracted to Eleanor, Max admitted. He watched Eleanor at meetings too often, sometimes as part of their wordless communication, at other times when Eleanor was unaware of it. But attraction was not necessarily love. He seemed too much in control of himself, too guarded and too pragmatic. Max found it difficult to discern any particular emotion towards Eleanor on the man’s face. Quite the opposite of Vane, who wanted to hide his feelings for Eleanor, though they were always written plainly on his face.  _Some men conceal their feelings better than others, only to reveal them in close quarters_ , Max reminder herself. Rogers seemed exactly such a man. And the governor and his first senior advisor were often in close quarters, at early and late hours. Still, Eleanor’s responses just now, confirmed for Max that nothing significant had happened between them, yet. _Take heed, Eleanor_.

Eleanor was in no immediate state to return to the mansion. When she stepped outside of the tavern, she walked the other way to the beach, towards the smell of meat burning. She meandered through the tents and wooden huts full of men. At first glance, the beach appeared no different than before. Except there were less tents, and the beach was clear of rampant litter and whores. Eleanor untied her outdoor boots and enjoyed the feel of the doughy white sand caressing her heels and toes. At the shoreline, low, warm waves rolled softly onto the white sand and dissolved into rustling foam. It was in this world, between the waves, that she had metaphorically been born and grew up. The water tickled her toes, and she lifted her blue petticoat enough to go a little further.

Max’s had been meant to warn her that the governor’s position would at some point demand of him to set her aside. Eleanor was in doubt and anxious. _He made it clear to me he thinks it inappropriate._ And she cringed with fright. But then she thought, _and yet he implied there might be a you and I_. And her heart soared with hope. Like the waves going to and fro, she swayed between fearing the worst and the best. _I dare not offer what I desire to give, let alone take that I die of wanting. What should I do?  Perhaps I should hide it better to silence the gossip?_ But Eleanor shook her head. _No, the more I seek to hide it, the more bashful I become and reveal the bulk of it to all._

As she stood in the gentle, lapping surf, in doubt, a fleeting sensation that she was being watched crawled across her back. She circled around and looked about. Aside from the men preparing a roasted pig, the beach looked deserted. The huts appeared abandoned. Eleanor shook her head and her eye fell on a small, elongated, cone shell  horns of sea-unicorns her mother used to called them. Eleanor bent down to pick it up, awkwardly trying to keep her petticoat from getting wet. She twirled it around in her finger. Unicorns, her mother had explained, were like invisible wild horses, sparkling white with a horn on their heads. Only a pure maiden could see one, touch one and gentle a unicorn’s temper. Sea-unicorns were even more special. One could never hope to see one, not even maidens of the purest heart. But one could find their tiny horns on the beach.

“What does it mean?” she had asked her mother. “Are they dead?”

“No, Eleanor,” her mother smiled. “They shed their horn, because they found their mate. Sea-unicorns are female sea-horses. And when they choose their mate, they lose the horn and reveal themselves to him.”

Of course, her mother had made the sea-unicorns up. Their horns were shells. But as she twirled it between her fingers, Eleanor smiled at the idea of a sea-unicorn that had made her choice. And then, finally, she understood. _Max does not know him like I do_. Despite all the importance he put onto propriety, he was far less conventional. _He does not care what his men think of him in relation to me. But he cares what his men think of me. He cares for me._ _He wants to protect me._ She remembered the way he had whispered _you_ that very morning and how it had made her all tingly, how butterflies took flight in her belly and an aching yearning settled between her loins. _I choose, like a sea-unicorn._ _Maybe there are better men than him, but I do not aspire for a goodlier one. He may deny me, and yet I will offer it and remain his servant whatever his choice._

Though initially Rogers had been busy - five more men had fallen ill today - he started to wonder what could keep Eleanor from returning. When he noticed one of the clerks who drew up the pardons for former pirates at Max’s tavern enter the assembly hall, he called out to the man. “Mr. Sutton!”

“Yes, sir.”

“Miss Guthrie was to see Max of the tavern this afternoon. But she has not yet returned –“

“Oh, yes, Lord Governor, I saw her. She arrived there several hours ago, sometime in the afternoon. She was with the landlady, in her office, until an hour ago.”

 _That long?_ _Then again, Max would have been understandably upset and would need some consolation_ _._ But there just seemed to be no reason for Eleanor to stay away for another hour after leaving Max. Rogers glanced at the large windows. “It’s dusk already.”

Mr. Sutton lowered his tone. “I do not think she intended to return directly. I saw her veer left towards the beach. Maybe she went out for a stroll.”

 _Eleanor taking a stroll_ … Rogers smiled politely at the clerk and thanked him. Sergeant Hopper confirmed he had indeed seen her hiking her blue petticoat and wade in the surf. “To pick up shells, my lord.”

That reassured Rogers. Eleanor would not be at leisure, if she thought Max might cause trouble for him. _Besides, we both worked long hours since the first day without ever really having time to unwind_. Rogers could not begrudge her an hour’s stroll on the beach. Still, an inner voice reminded him it was a beach full of former pirates and drunken sailors. He silenced it soon – _she governed the island by herself for eight years. She can handle any of those drunken louts, no doubt, if they wish to cause trouble_.

So, Rogers decided not to appear to be waiting for her and informed Dyson for his cook to serve his dinner upstairs in his apartment, and to keep a meal warm for Miss Guthrie when she returned. Once, he entered his apartment, he decided to follow her example. He let the work lie at his desk and walked to his shelf of books, read the titles, and his eye caught the book that had been gifted to him by his friend Daniel Defoe.

Rogers acquainted Defoe in London while seeking a publisher for his around-the-world voyage. The much older man had taken a liking to him and was keenly interested in the oddity of Mr. Selkirk surviving his years of being marooned. Defoe had gifted him Marmion’s book in gratitude for giving deeper insight into Mr. Selkirk. Defoe was writing a novel about a man marooned on an island, inspired on Selkirk's character. Rogers tipped _Cupid and Psyche_ out of the row of books on the book shelf and opened it on the first blank page. Defoe had written a dedication in it for him.

“May the zephyr bless you with a butterfly and some poetry,

your good friend, Daniel Defoe”

Rogers shook his head. What had possessed his friend to give him this book and write such a message? Rogers read Apuleius’s _Metamorphosis_ in Latin in his last years of his schooling, and so he was familiar with the legend. He had once seen a performance of Mathew Locke’s semi-opera in London. But he thought it rather one of Defoe’s idiosyncrasies to gift a love legend to a man as pragmatic as he was, on the eve before departing with a war fleet to conquer an island full of pirates.

He took the book to his personal desk, pulled his plate closer and started to read. In between bites he removed first his justaucorps, then his waistcoat, his cravat and finally his boots in the sweltering heat of the evening. Dyson came to take away his plate, of which he had barely eaten, and informed him that Eleanor had returned shortly and had gone to her room. Rogers read on about Psyche’s sham wedding that was no wedding feast, but a funeral; her mysterious adventures on the island and her nightly visitor whom she was forbidden to see; her jealous sisters who convinced her that her husband was a monstrous snake she ought to murder; how she was surprised at his true form, fell in love, and made love to him while he slept; how Cupid got burned by the oil lamp, and fled from her in anger.

Major Rollins entered to give Rogers a report of Dr. Marcus’s findings. It was as Rogers had feared - a disease to which the natives of the islands in the West Indies were immune. As Major Rollins left, Rogers tried to pick up the thread again of where had had left off in his book, when the door opened and Eleanor entered.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hidden Vane - On the beach, Eleanor feels watched. In 3x07, Vane hides in one of the beach huts. Vane is the one watching her unseen. He can spy on her from a distance but still focus on the mission. It also makes the timing of her choice more poignant. 
> 
> Daniel Defoe - Defoe and Rogers were real life friends at least since his voyage book got published. How excatly they met is ucnlear, but Defoe was involved in a publishing business, a pamphleteer and political spy with connections, and somewhat morally dubious (financially). Defoe was also a voice of economical trade and English imperialism. He praised tradesmen and elevated them to being gentlemen, which is what Rogers was - a merchant, not of noble stock, but a gentleman nonetheless. Defoe published Robinson Crusoë in 1719, inspired on Rogers' Selkirk. It's ironic that Rogers' saved a "maroon", while Flint and Maroons plan to attack him. Defoe is also suspected to be the author who wrote "A General Hystory of Pyrates" (written under pseudonym). Rogers was a crucial source, while he was in debtor's prison after his first term as governor. The book made Rogers a hero in the public's eyes for a second time, and helped to clear his name and to a second, peaceful term as governor. I make Defoe instrumental of Rogers' fate. 
> 
> Cupid & Psyche dedication - the zephyr wind is ordered by Cupid to blow Psyche to the island where he consumates their clandestine marriage. Psyche was used to indicate "the soul" by the Ancient Greeks, but its literal meaning is "butterfly". The first phase of the Cupid-Psyche relationship is a shameful one. Defoe urges Rogers to let go of his scruples and be happy with some woman in Nassau. It was not uncommon for men to take on an a mistress, especially after separating. Think of Louis XIV of France (died in 1715) who had many official royal mistresses and had his bastards with them legitimized, or The Duchess (set in late 18th century) and the Libertine, 2nd Earl of Rochester, who has his affairs in late 17th century. Rogers makes such a choice in 3x10.
> 
> The Tempest: Eleanor's thoughts of doubt, weighing her actions and her decision incorporate allusion from Miranda's speech to Fernando and Prospero about him.


	17. The Lovers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eleanor and Rogers make love.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Graphic Warning - explicit M-rated sexual romance descriptions, with little dialogue.

Rogers laid the book down. Softly, Eleanor closed the door and glanced at him from across her shoulder. Something about her air was different, and he frowned, mystified. _Is something amiss?_ Then with a sure stride she approached and came around his desk. He rose, all his senses suddenly telling him why she was here. When she stood only mere feet in front of him, looking up at him, his body tensed in anticipation like a man bracing himself aboard a ship that was about to be wrecked in the blue depths of the ocean, blue as her dress, blue as her stormy, hungry eyes.

Eleanor reached for his face with both of her hands and pressed her lips onto his with passion, hitting him like crashing waves, and he was lost, searching her mouth as hungrily, resting his hands on her hips to pull her closer. She felt dizzy as he kissed her back and she trailed his chest with yearning. She could feel the hardness of his body, the muscles underneath his shirt. Finally, she could touch him and his masculine smell mixed with cinnamon was intoxicating to her. She was desperate to stroke his naked skin. Her hands stalked down towards his trousers and tugged at his shirt.

He helped her, pulling at his own shirt. She stopped, resting her hands on his sides, looking into his eyes, and he bit his lip in shame while wondering why she stopped. _Will she leave me again, tonight, in all this wretched state? Where's my resolve now?_

The doubt and shame written on his face startled Eleanor. He hardly dared to meet her eyes. Eleanor did not want this to be a one time act born out of lust. She wanted to show him that she chose him, not just now, not just tonight. There ought to be no doubt in his mind that she decided this of her own volition, aware, deliberate. And Eleanor knew he too ought to make the choice, as aware, or use his freedom to turn her away if it tortured his conscious.

At last, Rogers met her eyes, almost accusingly, scared, intense. She let go of his shirt and moved her hands to the buttons of her mantua. Her heart beat a thousand times, fearing he might indeed tell her to go. Button by button, she undid her jacket, removed it, and then dropped it to the floor. When he stood there gaping at her, she reached for his hand and lifted it to her laces, while her fingers removed his cufflinks.

Rogers shuddered, his breath trembled and his eyes raked her bosom trapped in her stay and only inches away from his touch – a sight no proper man should see, but her husband. Breathless, he gazed back into her eyes. _What now?_  Her hand lifted his and he began to pull the laces of her stay - tugged and yanked them loose. _This is really happening. I’m doing this_ , he thought as he stared at her lovely face, while her own eyes trailed his fingers ripping one tie after the other free. He felt drunk with desire. His heart, his breath and her sighs thundered in his own ears. All the laces undone, he yanked the stay free across her shoulders and her body. _I want to see_. The stay fell on the floor.

Eleanor gasped as if he had just liberated her. And Rogers felt all the blood rush to his loins, like an irresistible pull from his gut that nearly made his knees buckle, and settled into a pleasurable strain. She wrapped her hands around his neck, while he undid her petticoat, so that her light chemise was the sole fabric left between his hands and her skin. Her eyes were dark as an abyss to lose oneself in. He imagined he would never be able to resurface again.

Free from the restraint, Eleanor cupped his face and kissed him full on the lips. She moaned softly from satisfaction as he kissed her back. _Your turn_ , she thought, and her eyes gestured his shirt. _I want to see._ He pulled his shirt higher, overhead, staring into her eyes for as long as he could. _I want to touch._ Her hand went to his hard stomach. Her fingers marked the soft skin above his trousers, across his belly, his ribs, on to his shoulder where she noticed an old burn mark. _Did he gain that in the same battle as his facial scar?_ Lovingly she traced the outskirts of the burn.

His erection hardened, as her fingers trailed his torso. Rogers dropped his shirt and stared at her nipples puckering against the fabric of her chemise, so thin he could see the darker shade of the areola. His eyes sought her angelic face, trailed her full red lips and he saw how she studied his shape and form. She was fascinated by him and he let her look and feel. _She’s an angel_. Eleanor’s eyes and deliciously teasing fingers halted at his shoulder where he had a scar from debris burned him, in the same incident that scarred his face and cost his brother’s life. Seeing her so enthralled by the marks of tragedy and time on his body, made him want her more than ever. _God, I want her._

While her hands softly went around his neck, he pulled her to him and kissed her as if he was starving. He pressed his lips so hard to her luscious ones, have them open slightly, in order to taste and experience their texture. His hungry kisses made her breathless, and a stone dropped to her loins. She ached for him. He was just about to taste her mouth with his tongue, when she broke the kiss. _No, Eleanor, I’m famished_ , he thought. _I want you. I need you._  Her hair was tousled, and she looked up into his eyes. _God, forgive me, but give her to me._ She held him by the fingertips, literally and figuratively. Eleanor stepped out of her shoes and took a few retreating steps. _Come with me. Join me_. She looked at him, imploring, as she stepped back and felt his fingers slip away from her. She let go of his hand, and he dropped his, dazed, gobsmacked. Rogers could only gape, as she turned her back to him, walked into his bedroom and lifted her chemise.

Her longing crushed her. Eleanor had never wanted a man as much as him. She did not wish to feel so utterly lonely anymore. She wanted a partner in life, one she was safe with, who would not hurt her, who actually understood her, knew her secrets, what she wanted, truly knew her. That partner was him. And yet, she strolled to his bedchamber - his bed, not a pirate’s – alone, bravely lifting her chemise. She dared not yet look at him. She stilled her frightened heart, lifted her leg and began to unroll her red stockings.     

Bewildered, Rogers admired her full nakedness. In the light of the chandeliers, her body looked sculpted from the softest marble. Eleanor stopped in front of his bed. She lifted one leg, rested her rose-colored foot on the chest and undid her red stockings, first the left one, then the other. Rogers had time to breath, calmed and entered into a zone of inevitability as she stood with her back and gorgeous heart shaped buttocks to him. _Look at her, so fragile, so delicate, so natural, innocent._ It fully dawned on him then what they were about to do -something shameful in the eyes of society. _I can still turn back from it now. I can take my coat and cover her up, tell her that it is my fault that it got this far already._ She looked across her shoulder at him, a vision of vulnerability, a Venus Kallypogus in human shape come to him, risen from the sea.

Trembling, Eleanor had waited for him to come. She peeked across her shoulder. He still stood where she had left him, gawping. Her heart nearly broke. _Please don’t let me stand here alone, anymore_. She was tempted to lift her hands and cover her breasts.

 _Only mere flashes of thought zipped by at all once._ _The zephyr brought her to me. I fetched her, to my side, to be with me._ _I want her._ _Sending her away now would be like ripping the brittle wings of a butterfly._ _Why not just be happy? I want her, I want her, I want her,_ _his mind drummed and his feet moved on its rhythm_ _._

He padded on his naked feet from his office to his bedroom. As he was almost upon her, she turned towards him. Gently, his fingertips stroked her waist and nudged her into his arms that made her feel as if she was being sheltered by feathered wings. One hand of her wrapped his neck, the other went around his body. She would not let him go anymore. And as he leaned in to kiss her, she balanced on the top of her toes to meet him half way.

Rogers covered her nakedness with his own body. Though initially he had gathered her into his arms as if indeed she was breakable, he soon pressed her tightly against him, crushing her round and soft breasts against his chest. Like velvet, their lips met, mouths half open. She smelled of the sea, of rosewater. She tasted of sweet, dark rum and some perfume that he could solely describe as _Her_. Rogers groaned and his loins tightened in his trousers.

Their tongues touched, taking a first wild flavor. Passions exploded in a struggle, where their tongues, hands, bodies wrestled to match one another, to find that sweet spot of harmony between exploring a new body, another body, a level of unchartered intimacy and unable to know it fast enough to satisfy. She clung to his lips, to him, like a drowning one. One moment, his hands raked her back tenderly. The next he dragged her by the shoulders to him, rolling his tongue deeper into her mouth. Their sighs, smacking, sniffing for air and the sound of brushing skin reigned the silence of the night.

Swinging her head to the side, Eleanor came up for a breath and he solely had the nape of her neck to kiss. His erection pressed against the curve of her belly. She wanted him naked, to feel the delicate skin of his hardness rub against her. It was just the last layer between them. Without it, they would be equal in this. She unbuttoned him, and her foot dragged his trousers down to free him.

Rogers let go of the sweet spot in her neck, stepped back, and stepped out of his trousers. He took her back into his arms, closer, very close, reveling at their nakedness and the experience of inadvertently touching each other with more than hands and lips and tongues alone. Her soft breasts yielded against his chest like pillows. Her hardened nipples swept against his skin. The sensitive head of his cock brushed against the curve of her belly, and lower when she stood on her toes.

Rogers paced himself, wanting to savor every sensation, discovery and experience of her. Lovingly, Eleanor caressed his face and head, while her other arm across his shoulder pulled him close. Never before she had expressed her desire for someone in this way. She wanted to love him and be loved. He gathered her to him by her shoulders in like fashion, melting against her. It had been such a long time he had held anybody and it had never felt so caring. Having found that harmonious momentum, with the struggle of the initial clash over, they kissed and sampled each other, more aware, gentler. And when he buried his face in her neck in worship, sucking the blood pumping there gently to the surface of her skin, she gasped and dug her nails in his shoulders as her head swam with burning desire.

Where this had all started with Eleanor flinging herself at him, Rogers now initiated the exploration. Eleanor bended and surrendered. It was a delight - the heat of her naked skin, the female fragrance, every sigh and little noise that escaped her lips. It was a revelation to be covered with his feathering kisses and tender strokes, deepening Eleanor’s aching need. Fascinated by this sensual creature in his arms, he looked at her face, as she threw her head back, eyes half-closed, lips half open. Hovering over her, he caressed her forehead and cheek with his hand. She brushed her lips to his thumb and took it in, while she lifted her hips so that his erection bowed and the tip of it was pressed against her warm and moist sanctuary. A low throated moan escaped him. Eleanor bit her lower lip. She wrapped her arms around his neck and shoulder as she lowered herself, writhing her hips adoringly so that she could tenderly enfold the head. Rogers breathed hard as his hands dropped to her buttocks and he pushed a little to just give her a first amorous sample. It was no attainable position for any long time, but as he pushed himself partially into her, felt her part slowly and then envelop his tip, he trembled, and opened his eyes – big blue pools of affection. They stood motionless, a naked man and woman, as naked as they had been born and nature shaped them, in each other’s arms, doting, warm, aroused, connected, and they only saw each other’s depths in the eyes of the other. It was a fair encounter of two most rare affections, as if heaven rained grace down on what grew day by day between them.

Fondly, he lifted her to disconnect, wrapped her small hand in his, brought it to his lips and kissed her fingers. Wide eyed and lips parted, Eleanor took a step back. He matched her with a step forward. Another, and yet another, until they stood beside his bed. She reached out with her hand, in a welcoming gesture. They nestled against each other, intertwining legs, molding their bodies to one another. Her leg hugged his thigh. His knee pushed her inner leg. Her foot stroked his shin. His hand grazed her hip, across her round cheeks of her buttocks and wrapped around her thigh to pull her closer. Even their breathing, heaving their bellies up and down, was a form of touch. He dipped his head and nuzzled his nose against hers, while he and she inhaled each other’s breaths, brushing lips. He pressed his forehead against hers.

Rogers wanted it to last, the miracle of her lying in his bed, this magical opportunity to express all he felt in his heart, his belly and his cock without words. _I love you. I prize you. I honor you._ Eleanor was delirious and intoxicated with desire coursing through her. Anxious for what would come next, Eleanor’s breaths came rapidly. This tenderness was all so new to her. Never in his wildest dreams had he imagined she would come to him like this, determined, eager, shameless and yet vulnerable, fragile like a butterfly in the palm of his hand that he could crush, and so very naked. She wanted to bask in his affection, let herself be swept away by his fondling and caressing. _How can there ever be any shame in loving her? Whatever made me believe so? - What did I ever do to deserve this man? Is this what love is?_  

At long last, he pressed his lips onto hers. She quivered and moaned from satisfaction, inviting his passion. Rogers rolled her over so that she lay beneath him, pushing her into the feather mattress with his weight as if she fell from heaven in a cloud, while his tongue explored all of her mouth. Gently first, languid, but the more he kissed her, the more he wanted, the hungrier he became, like a starving wolf of the sea. He sought her mouth and tongue, greedy and famished, while he traced the outline of her breast, cupped it and brushed his thumb against her nipple and then pinched it hard. His self-control started to come undone, and to preserve a last shred of it, he buried his face in her neck, sucking her earlobe.

Gasping, she closed her eyes and wrapped her hands around his head, kneading his hair. In this mixed display of his passion and affections, she wavered between aching for wild abandon and taking pleasure in the torture of his kisses and caresses. She cupped his face and lifted her head desiring his tongue, dragged her thigh to his hips to compel him to enter, lifted her hips with wanting and arched her back in answer to his kneading her breast. She wanted this man to know and experience all of her, every inch of her body and her response to his touch; she desperately wanted to know and feel all of him, including the untouchable, everywhere.

Eleanor’s  spontaneous reaction deepened the experience for him. And yet he feared that as soon as he gave in to her loins begging for him he would lose himself in a self-abandon that might dampen her pleasure. They struggled with each other, with her hands, legs, feet and hips imploring him to enter, and him holding off that moment for as long as he could, kissing her hard on the mouth, grabbing her hand, stroking her, devouring her breast, avoiding her loins. But all his resolve shattered when she mumbled one word - “Please.”

How could his pleasure soaked brain and his keen cock pounding with hot blood refuse such a despairing plea? Rogers lifted himself on one hand, rubbed himself a few times to spread the drop of dawn glistening at the tip and guided himself to her writhing hips, searching for the moist welcome of her entrance. He looked down to witness himself entering her. The sensation of the dampness of her opening, the silkiness of her petals enfolding him and the simultaneous sight of it nearly made him burst. Eleanor gasped satisfied, while her legs wrapped around his hips to prevent him to escape. All of her draped herself around him as he allowed himself to sink deeper into her – her hands, her arms, her legs, her lips, this heavenly well, her being, her soul, not allowing him to escape. _Rapture!_ He lifted his hips, pulled back and felt like dying in heaven itself with the sensation of the rim of his cock’s head rubbing against the rippled texture of her. Just as quickly he wanted to re-experience the parting of her inner muscles when he pushed, slid into her - the joy to thrust into her. Every retreat only increased his need and rush to be enveloped by her femininity again, to penetrate the essence of her. Nor could Eleanor suffer him withdrawing from her. She clawed to meet him, desperate for him to find her and reach her.

They both wanted the same thing – to meet one another on the ethereal through the physical, desperately searching, grappling, thrusting for that moment of bliss where the walls of reality would implode and they could float in each other’s arms through the stars. For that though, they did not yet know each other too well. Soon, Rogers brawled with himself as the road split between abandoning all restraint and fuck her to reach that all liberating spurt, or deserting her altogether and then neither would be gratified. Frantic, Eleanor tried to follow, use his passion and lust as an anchor to find her way to her own climax.

Rogers could not curb self-indulgence anymore, not when Eleanor’s foot grazed along his thigh, down to his shin and she lowered her hips to experience more friction; not when her moans and whimpers penetrated his bliss infused brain. The creaking of the mattress and the slow banging of the board locked him in the excitement of the physical world. He put his weight on her, buried his face in the dampness of her neck and hair, grabbed her hips and thrust deep, hard, his mind solely engaged in rubbing back and forth in her cleft and the feel of his balls against her silky cheeks. He tensed, digging his fingers into her ass, wrapping her shoulder in a clenched grip, as he banged roughly into her. His breath was hoarse, his grip smothering.

Eleanor lost her leader, unable to follow him to the peak. She could only cater to his obvious need for imminent satisfaction, and find excitement in his pleasure; in witnessing the transformation of this otherwise civilized man into instincts driven by lust; in the knowledge that if she could not meet him in heaven, she could make him partner in the instinctual. And she did find happiness and joy in that, welcoming him, encouraging him. But then she remembered something. “Not inside me, please,” she whispered. “Pull back in time... Please.” 

He felt the tingling begin - the start of a panicked surge towards his orgasm - and slammed into her, almost not hearing her plea, except for the _please_. He did not even remember his own name. But as he came at a plateau where his cock was overdosed with jubilant sensation, his body could just spare enough of the pumping blood to make cohesive comprehension of her words. With the greatest rigid effort he refused himself the last thrust, grabbed his own cock and jerked off as a throaty groan escaped him. It washed over him like a tidal wave, his balls burst, and his seed spurted into her downy blonde hair and onto her belly. She clung to him. He jerked once more, slower, and squeezed another jet onto her, and again, again, … until he was finally spent and he could relax his body, breathing heavily. Depleted, he made one last effort to lift himself and rolled off of her, laying on his back, staring at the ceiling as his chest heaved up and down to a slower, normal breathing again.

Eleanor caught her own breath, savoring the throbbing memory of him having been inside her. Her body glowed with a soothing ache. And yet, being a witness to his release was not equal to partaking in it. A part of her felt locked out, wanting and needing him still. When she grew increasingly aware of the stickiness clinging to her skin, she climbed out the bed and padded to the washing stand to wipe off the glistening, translucent white liquid that had already coagulated. It was not the first time she washed off semen, but it was the first time she regretted it. For a moment, Eleanor rested her hand on her belly.

A child had been growing inside once. Charles was just too damn careless too often. She used to drink tansy tea when he ignored her wish and came inside her. But eventually that method was bound to fail. Had she kept it, she would now be a mother with a baby less than a year old. But she could not bring a child into a world of debauchery, with a father reveling in violence and talking nonsense about a lion keeping no den. Mrs. Mapleton had recognized the early signs of her condition as well as her desperation and offered to help her out, using a Higgonson syringe that pumped soap and strong anti-septic irritants into her womb - a frightful, degrading and painful procedure. Sick with fever afterwards, Eleanor had been forced to confine herself to recover and let Mr. Scott take care of business. Charles never even came to see her and he never knew. She wanted to tell him, once, but found him drunk in the arms of whores in his tent. He had laughed at her jealousy, telling her that he was a free man with a man’s appetites and if she stayed away from his bed for a month he would seek pleasure somewhere else. And that was the end of them.

Lying exposed to the night air, Rogers came to himself enough to listen to the chirping of the crickets. He contemplated the implications of what they had just done as he stared at the ceiling, one arm lifted high, supporting his head. He was confronted with his own weakness, unable to keep his resolve to avoid the affair, and being no better than an animal in the end, to her even. Oh, he felt great, sensationally wise. He had not felt this relaxed and satisfied in ages. He would do it all over again and no doubt continue now that he had begun. Her wanton unreservedness in the throes of his passion was a novelty. Sex with Sarah was silent, hiking her nightgown up under the cover, after he had doused every candle. He was not even certain if Sarah had ever enjoyed it much. Sarah enjoyed pregnancy though. She never asked him to come outside of her and when she was not with child, she would whisper in the darkness she hoped his seed would quicken.

He glanced at Eleanor standing at the washing stand, while she dabbed her belly with a cloth. A part of him wished she did not need to; that they could revel in each other’s bodies and allow his seed to take root. _T _hat would be folly. Eleanor at least kept her head.__ Still, only with the whores of Newfoundland had he ever ejaculated outside, and Eleanor was no whore to him. He wondered what she was thinking. _How was it for her? Her_ _, who had come to him and shed her clothes layer by layer in the revealing light of the multitude of chandeliers that burned._ _Why tonight, and not before or tomorrow?_ _H_ e had tasted rum on her breadth. _Drunk and going back to her roots._ Eleanor was a Nassau, ultimately uninhibited, a woman who walked amongst cutthroats and drunks and lifted her skirts to stand with naked feet in the surf. He loved her for it, but ultimately he feared her over it just as well. While he wanted to meet and collide with her, transform their joining into something higher than just the sum of them, in that moment he only felt a vast divide.

Eleanor lay back down in the bed, pulling the sheet over her legs, her back turned to him. In all that time, Rogers had not uttered a word to her, not before, not during, not after. He lay silently beside her. She waited and waited. _What is he thinking? Why is there such a barrier between us now, when he was so tender and passionate before?_ Suddenly self-conscious, she covered herself.  “If you don't say something, I'm going to have to.”

Rogers heard her – a voice like a lark. For a moment he did not know what to say. If he did not speak he would shame her, and if he revealed his darkest insights of their differences he would hurt her. He began to collect thoughts that hung at the periphery of his awareness. “Eight of my men have fallen ill.” His voice was deep, relaxed and hoarse still. “One of your warehouses has been converted into a sick bay.” He took a deep breath. “If we had been honest with ourselves, we'd have seen it coming. Where chapter one is ‘Conquest of a Foreign Land,’ chapter two is always ‘Suffer the Illness to Which the Natives Are Immune.’ Those eight men won't be the last. Many of my people will die. Every man and woman that followed me onto this island will be susceptible to it.”

Rather confused, Eleanor listened. His voice was soothing, soft but also raw. _Work is always on his mind_. She did not know what to say about it, though yes it was not uncommon for foreigners from Europe to die. _Does he fear for his own life?_

“ Yet as I lay here,” he said. “The three words I keep hearing in my mind over and over again are ‘except for her.’”

Slowly, Eleanor turned and lay on her back, holding the sheet modestly across her breast, while she rolled her head sideways to look at him. Rogers had not been talking of his men, but her. The thought of her dominated his mind, and she had not expected that.

He lifted his arm and dropped it to rest beside him, glancing at her out of the corner of his eye. He could see fear in her eyes, and pain. But he could no more lie to her than to himself. “You're one of them.” He looked at the ceiling once more. “Whether I choose to acknowledge it or not, nature is going to keep reminding me of this fact in the coming days with every death we suffer.”

Lying on her back, Eleanor sighed in disappointment as he voiced what separated them, rather than joined them. Her heart felt like glass about to be shattered. “You think I'm a danger to you?”

“I know I can feel my connection to London diminish with every day I'm here. I can only assume your connection to this place is growing at a similar rate and that sooner or later the instincts that led you into the prison cell I found you in will return.” He blew out his breath, now that he had said it, knowing full well what a scoundrel he was for reprimanding, rejecting her now, after this, as they lay both naked next to each other in his bed. Perhaps Sarah had some reason to hate him.

Her heart wept, for how could her Cupid be so cruel to believe she would betray him. She rolled on her side towards him. Rogers glanced to look at her, and the visage of a trembling, vulnerable Eleanor tugged at his heart, transfixed him. “You asked me once if it was true what my enemies say of me.” Her voice was that of a defenseless woman, scared, heartbroken and reaching out in her utter loneliness. “That I would turn on anyone, no matter how close, if it served my ambition.” Trying to control the strangling feeling of emotions, she whispered , “I was that way once.” She sobbed, “But I do not wish to be that way ever again. I'm resolved to shed it. I'm resolved to have my word mean something.” Biting tears away, Eleanor shifted around and laid her hand on his shoulder. She pledged herself on his heart. “And I give you my word my commitment to you is inviolable. Not because my freedom depends on your success here. Not because I seek to regain that which was taken from me nor vengeance upon those who took it.”

Stunned, his heart hammered in his chest. _Can this be? Does she mea what I hoped she means? Can she feel as much for me as I feel for her?_ And yet, he did not trust his own heart in this and whispered, hopefully, “Then why?”

Too scared to say more, she sighed. Eleanor trembled and her eyes were watery with emotion. _Can you not see, can you not feel how much I love you?_

Rogers did see it in her dark, dilated pools. Rogers did feel it emanate from her sigh like an inaudible sound that reverberated in his heart. The divide was gone. He stood with her in that imaginary surf and allowed the azure foam and small waves cover his feet. Rogers reached out for her face, wrapped his hand around her neck, while she cupped his face with her own delicate fingers and closed her eyes. He pressed his lips onto hers, held her close to lay squashed against one another. Her soul was in there. And at the moment it was the only way he could get closest to it. Somehow, sometime, he would find the key to unlock the physical barrier and truly join her.

Eleanor’s petal lips kissed him reverently. He was all she had and all she needed. _Don’t hurt me anymore, I’m yours, trust me_ , she tried to say as she clung to his lips. He kissed her back. For a moment he opened his eyes and glanced at her, seeing her face so close to his. Hers were closed, her eyelashes moist. _She does. She loves me._ _She’s mine._ Rogers rolled her on her back. The cushion and mattress creaked. He forced her mouth to open and rolled his tongue around hers, deeper to taste her once more, including the flavor of afternoon rum. He liked it actually. He finished the kiss with a kiss, as her hands still held his face. Rogers lifted himself a few inches to look at her lovingly, to truly see how much she wanted him to be near to her, not just his body, but all of him. Eleanor’s gasp came like a frightened sob, a breath that he could inhale. He kissed her and she answered his kiss. A tear roll out of the corner of her eye.

Tenderly, he brushed a hair out of her face. “Shh, Eleanor.” He kissed the tear away. “Just give it some time.”

Her hands pressed against his jaw and she kissed him on the mouth again as an answer. She would give him and them all the time he needed. To hear him say her name to her was the most wonderful thing he ever did so far. He held some of his weight up, leaning on one arm, while his other hand swept down her body beneath him. Eleanor shuddered at his touch. She was still so close to her own satisfaction.

Rogers realized he had brought her closer to the brink than he had believed it. He already had the key in his hands to unlock her – it only required tenderness and affection from him, and it was all he felt. His hand rested for a moment on the curve of her belly. She quivered beneath him like a taut string. Rogers brushed her lips with his, inhaling her breath, allowing her to breath his. His hand trailed the silky curls of her mound, went lower, between her legs that she opened for him. His thumb brushed and tested the rosebud that he knew would guaranty her pleasure.

Eleanor gasped and sucked in his breath, when he nuzzled the tip of his nose against hers before sweeping his lips against hers, while he applied pressure onto the pink pearl. His tongue entered her mouth, languidly. He rolled his thumb around over the small, hard, throbbing knob at the same unhurried manner as he revolved his tongue around hers. She was actually not sure yet whether she wanted this. _Oh, it felt wonderful, and far more right that he did this, instead of Max._ But she knew it would require her to take from him, to expose herself to him in a manner she had never shown to a man. Eleanor would need to trust him to help her, fantasize in front of him, when he had such a power to hurt with one word alone.

He felt her hesitate. Rogers opened his eyes. “Eleanor,” he whispered as he stayed his thumb. She opened her eyes. “Do you trust me?”

She studied his handsome face, the scar that was a part of him, and then looked back into those blue eyes that could be severe at times, boyish wonder at others, and now full of concern. Eleanor could not speak, but she nodded _. Yes, I trust you._

Soothingly, Rogers dipped his fingers in between her folds, while his thumb rotated the precious button below, and this time she jerked her hips giving in to what he was willing to give her. Slowly he began to rub his fingers inside of her, forward into a beckoning motion. One hand of hers dug into his shoulder muscle, while she dropped her other hand on the mattress, next to her. Breathing, sighing and yelping, she moved her hips rhythmically up and down to his touch, imagining he was thrusting inside her and began to contract her muscles more and more.

When a new wave of wetness surged passed his slick fingers, he felt his own arousal resurface. He moaned approvingly. But having been sated already, it existed without the conflicting urgency. As he released her mouth, slightly biting her lower lip to then let it go, he admired her glowing face, heavy lidded eyes, half open petulant mouth from which the loveliest gasps escaped, her blonde tousled hair and her hand stretching and pulling at the mattress sheet. Rogers shifted to lean on his elbow more so that he could grasp her hand in his, while the other rubbed her harder, fiercer, stronger. As she arched her back, Rogers had a momentarily glorious view of her.

Eleanor’s eyes flew open and she saw nothing but affection in his eyes. The corners of his mouth were tugged into that of a reassuring smile. His smile faltered as he drowned into those large, dilated, blue eyes of hers. It was impossible to stop gazing at one another. It deepened her pleasure, as if he reached inside her where nobody else had ever been. She moved with rough, precise thrusts of her hips to reach for ecstasy. Eleanor clenched her muscles and with fast strides she jumped level per level to her peak. His jaw went slack, as he felt drawn into her mind, into her heart, seeing the onset of her orgasm happen in her eyes. Her free hand went to his cheek again, steadying his gaze, as if it were a lifeline, a tether to his soul, and then she exerted herself to make that final jump, making her body so taut it almost hurt.

Rogers had wings then, taking her with him higher and higher with mounting strides. She reached out in her mind, fingers gripping a ledge, hanging on, clinging until the supernova blast and she tumbled and tumbled and tumbled like a leaf on the wind. A slow shudder escaped her lips, and he could feel her contract in ever increasing waves around his fingers. He gripped her hand tightly, intertwining his fingers with hers. He rolled his thumb with even more pressure across her rosebud, and she cried out as he caused another wave of tremors within her. He lowered his forehead against her, while he let her swell of contractions flood over his fingers. A waft of a heady, sweet Eleanor tantalized his nostrils. Rogers chuckled involuntarily, as the surge of her rapture washed over him. It was almost as if he had come with her. _Not this time, but perhaps next._

Even as the tingling settled like dust, he held her in the cup of his hand, massaging her lovingly. Her breath was ragged. She felt like a feather rolling on waves of the sea that landed her safely back onto the sand, yet vulnerable, exposed, soft without scales or bones to protect her. Eleanor began to sob heavily, and buried her face in his neck. He rolled onto his side and onto his back, dragged her with him, holding her to his chest. Finally, he moved his hand from between her legs and towed one leg of hers onto him. She still had an arm around his neck, her face buried into his chest, sobbing with sputtering cries. His hand went up to her face and he felt the wetness of tears and smelled more Eleanor. 

Rogers lifted his head to kiss her forehead and whispered, “My sweet, sweet Eleanor.” It only made her bawl more. With his thumb he tried to wipe away her tears. “Don’t cry,” he murmured.

She tugged him closer to her and gasped for air. “Joy! It was from joy.”

That made him chuckle. He lifted her chin with his finger and kissed her lips, before she snuggled close to him, resting her hand on his heart, and he rested his own hand on top of it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Show versus writing - show had no actual sex scene, only the before and pillow talk leading into again - notedly different to prior lover scenes, except Flint-Thomas and 4.01 Silver-Madi. This has little to do with going soft on sex or nudity: Max-Georgia scene and Woodes-Eleanor strip fully. It's the first time we see Eleanor completely naked in front of a lover. The scene implies romance, rather than lust, though there's loads of passion. The show can use music and cinematography to set the romantic mood. I can't. I can only tell it by actually incorporating the sex, blending the POVs even within the same paragraph. 
> 
> Candles (show) - shot of two chandeliers, in such an angle that it appears the second chandelier is a mirror reflection of the first (though there is no mirror against that painted wall). The image evokes a sense of mirroring with 2 objects that are physically apart, yet appear to be very close. Pretty much every shot that does not zoom into them kissing after that has always 2 chandeliers burning, in or out of focus, even if apart in different rooms. A visual symbol that these two characters burn for each other. 
> 
> Paradise Lost: Conventionally Eleanor is a seductress, as Eve seduces Adam to take the fruit. But Eleanor interrupts the event twice, each time when Rogers is giving in to lust. When both are naked, the scene becomes affectionate and tender. In Paradise Lost the angel ordains Adam to copulate with love, not lust, and how this might in time make them spiritual beings. The pillow talk, with Eleanor asking him to speak and Rogers then making clear how different they are, suggests that the "soul union" experience did not come about. So, I have him eventually being overtaken by lust (the description becomes more hardcore and physical). He climaxes, but not Eleanor. This leads to a feeling of emotional separation, as Adam experiences after they both ate the fruit and copulate, only to wake wishing to cover their body up. The second time, Rogers negates his own physical needs and it leads to emotional unity. Better, but still separated physically.
> 
> Cupid & Psyche: incorporated stylistically with multiple references such as butterfly, Venus in human form (and copy image of the marbled, coy Venus Kalypogus), arms like feathered wings, lifting/flying Eleanor upwards, a kiss balming lips with dew, rich cabinet, Cupid being disarmed, a brow like a castle and lips like forts, arms to chase away fears, tears from love, love ought to be blind. On the first night Cupid tells her that each has to "give up his treasure, quite bankrupt through a rich exhcange of pleasure".
> 
> Tempest: Some of Eleanor's internal thoughts allude to Miranda's love declaration to Fernando. The pregnancy hints at Vane as a Caliban. Prospero removed Caliban from the household, after he attempted to violate Miranda, wanting to populate the whole island with his progeny. In this fanfic, Caliban succeeded in taking Miranda for himself, and in a world without anti-conception this leads to pregnancy. Eleanor/Miranda here prevents Caliban's progeny wish. The abortion experience leads to Eleanor choosing a bedwarmer in Max.


	18. The Fates

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There's been a murder in Nassau. Apparently Flint might be alive and invites men to return to the fold the next day, at the beach east of the bay. Max can only be expected to do so much to prevent it. Eleanor has an idea and shows Rogers Abigail's letter. Rogers realizes how much Charles Vane is a part of Eleanor's story. But he keeps a dark secret for himself - how long he himself has been a part of her story already. The Fates are playing a cruel game.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Violence warning: though Dufresne's body is at all times off-page (or just being carried away in sail cloth) the particulars of what happened to him are mentioned, and so is Ned Low's murder of his quartermaster in Eleanor's memory. Blood is mentioned too as well as Eleanor's pragmatical response to it.

Rogers woke at the insistent rapping on the door and a man crying, “Sir! Sir!” at the other side of the door.

He came out of a daze and realized they fell asleep as they lay. A sleeping Eleanor was still wrapped around him. Gently, Rogers moved and kissed her forehead, whispering, “Eleanor, wake up. Something is amiss.”

“Hmm.” Eleanor fluttered her eyes and rolled on her back. “What?” she mumbled as she rubbed the sleep out of her eyes.

Rogers swung his legs out of bed, rose and grabbed his silk men’s robe hanging from a peg. He pulled it on, knotted the sash and laid his finger on his lips to Eleanor, as she sat up and stretched her arm with a yawn. The candles of his chandeliers were burning low. They must have slept about three hours at least and Rogers supposed it must have been the dead of night.

The rapping on the door became louder. Rogers walked into the office, closing the bedroom door behind him. “Yes! I’m up.” He approached his office doors just as they were opened by Lieutenant Perkins.  “What is it?” Rogers said, not hiding his annoyance.

“Mr. Dufresne was murdered, my lord, at the tavern.”

“Oh, for the love of God!” Rogers cursed. He remembered the silent, angry looking quartermaster of Captain Hornigold as a l _oyal man._ _Not really a troublemaker, but of the lonely type_ _._ “Did they arrest the murderer?”

Lieutenant Perkins shook his head. “No, he was gone already when the regulars arrived. He is identifiable by having only one leg, though. ” Then he said in a lower voice. “He took the ledger of names of men who signed a pardon.”

“The ledger?” Rogers nodded at Lieutenant Perkins. “I will be down shortly. You can wait downstairs for me, lieutenant.”

“Should I wake Miss Guthrie as well?”

For a moment Rogers was speechless. “Euhm, no.” He shook his head. “That won’t be necessary, lieutenant.” Rogers followed Perkin’s eyes and just like the lieutenant he noticed the petticoat sprawled onto the floor, the chandeliers that had been left burning instead of being doused. And to make matters worse, Eleanor stumbled about in his sealed bedroom. Lieutenant Perkins stared at Rogers for a moment, while Rogers raised his eyebrows as a challenge to the lieutenant.

Perkins gave him a curt nod. “Sir,” and retreated.

With a sigh, Rogers picked Eleanor’s clothes up and carried them into the bedroom, where he was welcomed by the glorious sight of Eleanor in her shift rolling up the last of her stockings.

She looked up at him. “What happened?”

“A troubling murder.” He handed Eleanor her clothes, turning his eyes away. “If we thought to keep our affair private, then that hope has just been blown out of the water. Lieutenant Perkins figured out.”

Eleanor took her clothes from him, and put on her stay. “I didn’t expect we could." She stood before him, turned around, and lifted her hair for him to help her tighten the laces. "Your men gossip about us already.”

Surprised that Eleanor could be this unaffected by it, Rogers said, “It is not my reputation that is on the line.” He pulled at her laces that she knotted at the front quickly. “It is worse for the woman. In London, I could brag about it, but you would be shunned by society.”

Eleanor turned around, looked into his eyes and stroked his cheek. “We’re not in London,” she whispered. “This is Nassau. Besides, you said you didn’t care what your men or my people thought of me.” She reached for her petticoat and stepped into it. “I poured some water in the basin and used some to wash.”

Rogers walked to the basin. “Not as my advisor, but –“

“What do you think people will tolerate more?” Eleanor buttoned her mantua. “That you take advice from Eleanor Guthrie, convict, pirate and a woman? Or that you have an affair with her? My reputation is ruined anyway. You said so yourself, remember.”

Rogers remembered he had made some vague allusion to her credibility when he hired her. “That was meant as a jest, Eleanor.“ He splashed water into his face and chest.  

She held out his shirt for him. “I know. But I am speaking in earnest.”

Rogers slipped his arms and head through the shirt, while helped him with his cufflinks. He cupped her chin and looked down into her eyes. “Eleanor, are you telling me you came to me tonight, because of  what people might think of me for listening to you?”

“Is that how it felt to you earlier?” she whispered while blushing.

He lifted his eyebrows. _No, that certainly was not how it felt._ “That’s not an answer.”

“No,” she said silently. Eleanor turned her head away. “I came for you, because I knew you would think it inappropriate to come to my room.” She could not explain it any better, dared not, yet. Despite the fact that they had made love a few hours before, she was not comfortable at explaining her feelings. When Max warned her how the gossip might force Rogers to set her aside, there had been a primal panic of losing him, as well as hope that if his men saw Rogers being drawn to her, he might actually answer her strong feelings. Of course, she knew Max’s intention had been to warn her against getting too involved. It only impressed Eleanor with the inevitability of it instead, that they might just as well give in to their feelings, and self-denial would be worse. “What about this murder?” she asked to change the subject.

Rogers tugged his shirt in his trousers. “Mr. Dufresne was murdered at Max’s.”

She looked around for her shoes, and remembered they must be in the neighboring office. “Mr. Dufresne made a lot of enemies, ever since he challenged Flint for the captaincy of the _Walrus_.”

“Do you know a one-legged man that might be his enemy?” Rogers asked as he tied and adjusted his muslin cravat.

“No.” She noticed his waistcoat and justaucorps hanging across his office chair and took them to him. “None alive anyway.” Rogers shrugged into his waistcoat, and Eleanor came to stand before him to help him with the many buttons. “Flint’s crew member Randall had one leg, after it needed to be amputated when he got trapped beneath the _Walrus_ during careening. But they’re dead.” Eleanor looked up into his face gazing down on her. Rogers eyed her with a hint of a grin. Then she noticed several locks of his hair had gotten in disarray.

“What?” Rogers asked with a frown.

“Some hair got pulled loose.”

He grinned, reached out and tucked a strand of hair behind her ears. “Yours too.” That actually made her blush.

Major Rollins escorted them to the tavern. “Lieutenant Perkins only gave me a general picture,” said Rogers. “How exactly was Mr. Dufresne murdered? What happened?” Major Rollins looked at Eleanor and then whispered his answer to Rogers.

Rogers inhaled deeply. “Major, please relay Miss Guthrie what you just told me. She might stomach the description better than I do.”

“Mr. Dufresne’s skull was smashed in with a blunt object, M’am.” And before Eleanor could ask which blunt object, he added, “Witness accounts say the murderer stamped him with his peg several times on the head, after he fell on the floor.”

“And nobody tried to stop him?” she asked. Though Eleanor would not miss Mr. Dufresne, nor was she personally perturbed by the account itself, it disturbed her that such a violent murder belonging to the era of the pirate republic was even possible in the new Nassau. The only time anyone was murdered in her tavern when Eleanor still owned it was when Ned Low sawed his quartermaster’s head off and then decapitated her loyal Mr. O’ Malley.

“There was a gang of them that held other men down, while the murderer committed his foul deed.”

They arrived at the tavern, just as Mr. Dufresne’s body was carried out, wrapped in sail. Eleanor rushed towards Max, lifting her skirts as she stepped casually across the pool of blood on the floor. “You all right?”

“I was not here,” Max said acrid. Eleanor remembered how but nine days ago Max had prided herself on having no enemies and only strong friends, better able to preserve the peace than Eleanor ever could. And yet, a man like Ned Low had visited and murdered a man in Max’s tavern tonight, and Max took it as a personal affront.

Rogers stared at the pool of blood. “Who did this?” he said darkly.

“They say it was John Silver.”

 _That cocky  young man with sparkling eyes and angelic curls who is no more than an untrustworthy nuisance?_ Eleanor did not even know Silver had lost his leg. She remembered the jesting Silver as he was when had been chained in her office once. Eleanor had disliked him for all the trouble he had caused Max when he first arrived in Nassau. But she would never have believed him of all men to be capable of such a deed.

“They say he speaks for Captain Flint.”

 _Flint lives?_ Wide-eyed, Eleanor gaped back at Max. “Someone saw him alive?”

“No one saw him,” Max said disgusted. “Only his agents, including one _claiming_ to be John Silver.”

“Was it him?”

Captain Hornigold had joined them. “No one who was here knew him well enough to identify him, other than Mr. Dufresne. But though the identity was in question, the message they left behind was clear. They claim Flint will be returning tomorrow, east of the bay, to take on recruits.”

“Well,” whispered Rogers. “If Flint is alive,” he said looking at Hornigold and Max. “If he arrives at that beach, I can't have him finding two hundred men waiting there for him.” He glanced at the blood near his feet. “ I can't have him finding _ten_ men there. The image of any men leaving this place to join him would unsettle the street.”

 “I'll station men on the beach to –“

“No, no, no, no,” Rogers dismissed Hornigold’s notion, shaking his head categorically.

“I'll oversee it myself!” Hornigold assured in a loud voice.

“And if Flint doesn't appear?” Rogers argued. “What does that suggest? That I, too, am so weak as to fear a ghost?” His voice and face were stern. “No, I prefer there be no one there to meet him because no one wants to be there to meet him.” He glanced at Max. “Can you help see to that?” Rogers had never alluded to Max’s position as brothel madam in public or to Max before, but he made no bones about asking her to use her position in that regard now.

Max sighed and nodded. “Yes.” She lifted her skirts, came down the platform’s stairs, crossed the puddle of blood and left the tavern.

Eleanor sighed. “Max may be able to help matters, but she won't be able to stop all of them from going down there.”

“No, I don't imagine she can,” Rogers said cynically as he watched Max leave out the door.

“But there may be a way that you can prevent the rest of them, without looking like we're trying to prevent anything.”

 Rogers looked at her with a hint of a smile. “You have an idea.”

“What if you were to go east of the bay and hold a parlay with Flint?” She took a step closer, minding not to get blood on her shoes. “Any man who would want to join Flint will have to wait with you -.”

“And suffer my judgment,” he finished for her.

Eleanor lifted her eyebrows. “Well, you can be severe.”

He chuckled at this. “I like it. They will stay away from the beach out of shame. Clever.”

“But you can do more than that,” she pressed. “Instead of Flint recruiting men from Nassau, you can recruit him.”

Hornigold had been listening in the shadows . “Flint and his whole crew rejected the pardons I offered.”

In a soft, low voice, she said, “And how likely was it that Flint would have accepted your pardons, Captain Hornigold, while threatened with force, and by you?”

The captain squinted at Eleanor, turned towards Rogers and sputtered, “I-I offered them sincerely, my lord.”

Rogers lifted his hand at Hornigold in acknowledgement. “I believe you, captain, but Miss Guthrie has a point. You and Flint have a history, involving alliances one moment and rivalry the next.” He turned on his heel towards Eleanor. “Flint has no history with me whatsoever. He doesn’t know me, nor my aim for Nassau. Meeting him, face to face, might make him see reason.” Rogers indicated Eleanor to walk with him, and she fell in step with him. He took her aside where nobody could overhear, but Hornigold watched them both from afar. “Now, I backed your proposal there, but the captain also has a valid point - Flint and his crew preferred to risk death by sailing into a ship-killer over accepting pardons. That does not sound like the action of a reasonable man at all, especially in light of the crimes he committed in the colonies.” Rogers pursed his lips. “Do you truly believe that Flint might see reason?”

“Yes.”

Rogers sighed. “I very much doubt you believe this without having a specific reason for it.” She started to open her mouth, but he said darkly, “And don’t tell me it’s because he wants to farm sugarcane. Eleanor, what do you know about Flint that nobody else does?”

Eleanor looked at her feet. “I know who Flint really is and why he became a pirate.”

Rogers pressed his lips together in dismay. “You’ve been holding back on me.”

“Not on purpose, no!” Eleanor said. “If Hornigold had not claimed Flint was dead, I would have told you sooner. But since all involved were supposedly dead, I felt it was of little consequence, except to drag up an old London scandal.”

“I’m not pleased, Eleanor,” Rogers said. “I decide whether something is of little consequence or not. Not you.”

Eleanor flinched. “When Max mentioned Flint’s name in relation to this, I intended to tell you all I know," she tried to explain. "If he is alive, you _should_ know.” She looked around at the regulars, Hornigold and his men. “But not here. In private. I have to show you something - a letter.”

Rogers’ stern eyes studied her. He pursed his lips and then sighed. “Let’s go then.”

Briskly, they returned to the mansion in silence. _O _ne moment__ s _he pledges her utter loyalty to me, then plays the housewife, and she was still keeping vital knowledge from  me._ And yet, he could not stay angry with her. _What am I going to do? Put her on the Gloucestershire? Hours after making love to her?_ No, he was mostly angry with himself, getting himself well and good in a pickle with her. He had been prepared for all her female wiles when he lifted her out of her prison cell. He had been warned about her by Hornigold, Chamberlain, Captain Hume, the judge and herself. What he had not been prepared for was to fall in love with the diamond-in-the-rough Eleanor, the one who tried to shed her past, but still would make mistakes. And damn himself for wanting to get her as quick as possible for himself in private again. She managed to make him feel every range of emotion of the rainbow in a matter of hours. On top of that, he fumed over the murder. He was annoyed with Hornigold’s failure to actually ensure that Flint was either dead, captured or an ally more than a month ago.

He dismissed their escort upon arrival, while Eleanor climbed the stairs to her apartments. “You won’t be needed further.” Rogers raced after her. But when he stood before her closed door and heard her rummage, he deliberated whether to enter or not, feeling foolish for loitering in front of a woman’s door. But it was how he was raised. He never entered Sarah’s room without being invited. _All very English. This is stupid_ , he told himself. He grabbed the door handle, turned it.

Just then, Eleanor emerged, startled by his presence at her door. She waved the letter in her hand and closed the door, denying him a peek inside. “I have it!”

He opened the envelope and pulled the letter out, while they walked through the servant passage to his own apartments. It was written in a female hand and signed by Abigail Ashe, daughter of the late Lord Peter Ashe of Charleston. By the time Eleanor opened the doors for him into the office, he dropped the letter and turned to face her. “She says you saved her.” He waved the paper in the air. “Do you realize that you would not even have been convicted to hang if you used this? One of the few illustrious survivors of the Charleston massacre personally vouched for you. Any judge would have gone for leniency.”

“And where would I be then?” she whispered.

Flabbergasted, he gaped at her. “I still would have approached you to help me in ousting piracy from Nassau.”

“The day you came to my cell, I thought you were death in human form to fetch me for Wapping.” She said even in a lower voice. “And I did not care.” She took a deep breath. “Then it turned out you were gifting me life.” She met his eyes. “And I did not care.” Finally, she murmured, “But now I do.”

Rogers’ features became still and some of the color of his face had drained. She had not been talking about a location, but a voyage of the soul. The letter was the first real window into the circumstances that led to the death of Richard Guthrie. In Rogers' mind, Eleanor’s action when she saved Abigail Ashe from Vane was the purest, least selfish thing she may have done in her life, and he doubted most men would have had the brevity to do what she had done. And instead of gaining recognition she had lost everything for it - her father, her business, her freedom. And one of the main culprits behind it all, off-stage, had been him, when he reached out to Governor Tailer of the Province of Massachusetts Bay to help him bring down the fencing empire of Richard Guthrie.

After Rogers guaranteed Richard’s father and Governor Tailer of Boston that England supported the idea of pardons, they agreed to send the _HMS Scarborough_ to the Bahamas with the particular order to extract Richard Guthrie from Harbour Island and bring him to England. Instead of the father, Captain Hume delivered the daughter. Beggars could not be choosers, and Rogers decided to make do with the pirate that fate had given him, without her ever knowing she was a pawn in a political game and a judiciary theatre from the very beginning aimed at not giving her much of a choice if she wished to live. Rogers had not counted on falling in love with her though, and now he was in way over his ears. He was also convinced that in Eleanor he had found the actual jewel for all his plans. But Rogers was not keen on Eleanor realizing how much strings he had pulled to be where he was now, and how exactly she ended up caught in his net. The huge responsibility Eleanor piled on his shoulders to be her hero seemed unbearable then. _We're all villains in Nassau_ , Rackham had said. _W _ell at least I'm no Charles Vane__ , he shushed his conscious.

Slowly, he folded the letter and tapped it pensively in his hands. Her reluctance to disclose anything of this to the court, or to him, had nothing to do with Flint. It had all to do with Charles Vane and the murder of her father. Rogers knew he ought to dig further and ask her what actually happened, with Abigail, with Vane and her father, since it would clear up a lot of the mystery and might actually be of vital importance in his own relationship with her. He now saw the source of darkness inside Eleanor and it frightened him, for her. And yet, how could he demand her to share it with him, when he was unwilling to share his own darkness with her. He held out the letter for Eleanor to take back. “I see no mention of Flint in this personal correspondence.”

Confused, Eleanor opened her mouth and closed it again. With trepidation, she had watched him, waited for him to inquire after Vane, pondering how much she would tell him, how to word it all. But he only asked after Flint. She blinked and took the letter back with trembling fingers. “A-Abigail does reference Flint, by his true name.” When Rogers did not interrupt her, she said. “Flint is a pseudonym. His real name is Lieutenant James McGraw, a former naval officer who acted as a liaison between the Admiralty and the son of the Earl Alfred Hamilton, Lord Thomas Hamilton. Thomas Hamilton formed a proposal on how to deal with the Pirate Republic of Nassau. Lord Hamilton’s wife, Lady Hamilton, lived here in the interior by her maiden name, as Mrs. Barlow.”

Rogers walked to his cabinet against the wall and poured himself a glass of wine. Leaning on the cabinet, he stared at the painted wall in front of him, picked up the glass, downed it and poured more wine into it. “Thomas Hamilton was the first to introduce the idea of pardons,” he whispered. Instead of the chair behind his desk, he moved aside one of the other chairs in front of it and flopped down into it. He pushed the other chair with his boot, indicating her to be seated in that one. “That was the London scandal you alluded to? That Thomas's best friend committed suicide after he went mad with grief over his best friend having a liaison with his beloved wife."

"Yes."

"Now you are saying they lived here, on the island, and McGraw is Captain Flint, most notorious and formidable pirate of the West Indies."

"Yes."

Rogers put his hand before his mouth, rubbing his stubble. "I never personally knew Lord Thomas, but my father-in-law, Ser Whetsone, was part of the admiralty at the time. Years later, in London, my friend Defoe and others discussed his proposal for Whitehall. There were a lot of various rumors about McGraw, Lady Hamilton and Thomas, but what was always very clear is that it was used to destroy the proposal and Thomas Hamilton with it. Lady Hamilton was notoriously known for having various affairs and Lord Thomas seemed to tolerate them. He would not have gone mad with grief over the last one. But his own father, one of the Lord Proprietors of Carolina, could not bear any further shame to his name in the form of treasonous pardons." He reached for her hand and took it gently in his. "This whole endeavor of mine would not exist without Thomas Hamilton, would not have been possible without him. Explain to me how you happened to save Abigail Ashe and what Flint has to do with it.”

And so, Eleanor told him about Ned Low and how that maniac threatened to kill her and take over the island, while he held an unknown, valuable prize in his possession. She explained that when Ned Low challenged even Charles, the latter had killed Ned Low and took his prize who turned out to be the daughter of the governor of Carolina and intended to have a ransom for it. She clarified how Flint bombarded the fort to get Charles Vane out, how Lady Hamilton offered the solution to settle the feud. If Flint could deliver Abigail back to her father in Charleston, a reconciliation between Nassau and England could be negotiated, since Lord Peter Ashe had been their former friend and ally regarding the pardon proposal in Whitehall.

 “Flint would have allowed Charles to remain in the fort in return for Abigail, but Charles demanded the Man O War for it. He rather had Abigail die in the gunning of the fort or hand her to his crew to be manhandled and was dead set against a reconciliation.” Roger’s hand holding hers gave her a warm feeling, reassured her, as she delved into the memory of risking everything by going down into those dark, damp cells. “I used a ruse to get inside the fort and acquire the keys, and then stole down into her cell with a letter from Lady Hamilton to convince her to trust me.” She described her final meeting with Charles and his threats, and her choice to turn her back on him and run with Abigail. “I left him there to be killed by his own men,” she whispered. “Instead he led his men to capture my father on his way to Mr. Underhill at the interior.”

It was not hard for Rogers to figure out what ruse Eleanor must have used to get access to the fort’s keys. She had fucked Charles to make him betray Teach eight years ago and she had fucked Charles to betray him personally. Worse, it was now hopelessly clear to him that the relationship she had with Charles in the past was more twisted and monstrous than he could have fathomed. Evidently, Eleanor felt torn over Charles in two opposite directions - guilt over her betrayal to him, and yet hating him. _There can be no hatred without having loved first,_ Rogers thought. _Or at the very least a love for the illusion one holds of the other._ Hatred was born out of the crumbling of that illusion. It had been so between Sarah and himself. It must have been similar between Vane and Eleanor. Except, Vane had done something so violent, so damaging that could never be undone that Rogers feared it would leave a permanent mark on Eleanor. She was tied to Vane by hatred. She could never remember her father, without remembering fucking her father’s murderer. The thought made Rogers livid. Vane might have left Nassau for good in physical form, but he was somehow inside Eleanor, in the hatred she felt for him, in the most horrifying memories. And Rogers wished him gone from there. Unwittingly, he had let go of her hand.

Eleanor had watched Rogers in silence as he leaned with his elbow on the desk, his chin resting on his knuckles, and looked out into the darkness of the night. He seemed oblivious to her presence. His jaw flexed with anger and his eyes only reflected harshness. _He’s angry over Charles_ , she believed. _How I fucked him, used him for my own ends and left him to be slain by his own crew_. _Whatever he believed of me but a few hours ago, he can only be disillusioned by it now_. Eleanor rose and whispered, “I think I should go.”

Ever the gentleman, Rogers rose too. As she turned her back on him to move for the door, he took a giant stride and rested his hand on her hips, tugging the fabric of her dress. “Stay,” he murmured.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rogers POV reveal: implied that Rogers was an off-screen character pulling the strings from the very beginning. The show certainly allows for it: 
> 
> \- Richard Guthrie bribed the Proprietors for years to make him governor when English rule returned. The attempt to arrest Richard shows the Proprietors do not back him anymore. Hence, they back someone else.  
> \- Hume mentions "rumors in England", and yet his home port to dock is Boston. He must follow command of the Royal Navy chief-in-command in Boston, working with the governor there. For years the English Navy left Nassau alone. Suddenly a HMS goes to Royal Harbour to arrest Richard, and is keen on catching Flint.  
> \- Richard's painting of beheaded John the Baptist is shown several times. John prepares the way for the "savior". Hume prepares the way for Rogers.  
> \- Bryson claims he avoided speaking with Hume docked before Richard's home. But both men know each other as they both dock in Boston. He's quick enough to send a messenger to Hume before he leaves with the Andromache. The Bryson scenes can be re-watched as him having foreknowledge but testing Richard and Eleanor, to spy for Hume. He also takes Miranda's letter, proving a pardon for Flint is an actual option.  
> \- Hume is keen on catching Flint, but not Charles Vane nor Hornigold.  
> \- After Richard's death, Hume is ok with Eleanor, who is immediately sent to London. Why go through all that trouble for months, only to put a woman on trial in London, which could have been done in any colony?  
> \- As Governor of Charleston, Ashe would know Rogers' plans and his wish to get Flint. He must lure Flint to London.  
> \- Mr. Scott reminds Madi they should know at all times who the villain is, that the villain "makes" the story, and Madi reads Rogers' book. If Rogers did send Hume to extract Richard and Flint from the island, then yes he "made" the story since 1x01.   
> \- Mrs. Hudson mentioned she had been coerced into spying for Rogers six months ago in 3x05, this would be before Easter 2015, which was a reference of timing in S1, through pastor Lambrick.
> 
> Rogers' historical tactics: Rogers tested and proved pardon planscould work with Madagascar in 1713. He had local pirates extracted from the place, released them back onto Madagascar and gathered a long list of pirates petitioning for clemency. However, the East Indy Company preferred Madagascar pirates over a Madagascar Company (monopoly reasons). So, Rogers set his eye on Nassau instead - same tactic, different location. Rogers prepared and used infiltration tactics, turncoats. Show seemed to have dropped the historical Madagascar effort for Rogers and have him subdue Nassau earlier. Thomas Hamilton then becomes the fictional character that did Rogers' historical Madagascar groundwork but directly applied to Nassau. 
> 
> Cupid &; Psyche: Cupid pulls the strings of Psyche's fate unbeknowest to her and others. For a long time, nobody knows that Cupid is behind all this, not even Psyche. It's all a set-up and instigated by him in secret, just like Rogers does here.
> 
> Dufresne's murder: I have Eleanor desensitized to the idea of violence in general. She finds it horrific mentally, but it does not affect her emotionally or physically. She remains analytical, while Rogers is upset. He has been in battles, but seeing people die outside of that remains uncommon to him. The major whispers the details to Rogers to spare a woman's feelings, but Rogers suspects from the onset that Eleanor has seen and dealt with more violence than himself.


	19. The Pearl

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Murders not withstanding, it's a very long first night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: explicit sex scenes. It's an M-rated romance fanfic after all. They pretty much only had this night anyway for the rest of the season. That said, the chapter was structured and written to make it romantic (though lucky lucky Enealor).

As she lay in his arms - relaxed, her head in the pit of his arm, her body fitted to his - Rogers stroked her arm gingerly with the tip of his fingers. Her hand rested on his slowly beating heart and her nails fooled around with his chest hair. His mind was a sea of jumbling and contented memories. He licked his lips and smiled at the taste of _Her_ , like the beach or a sea breeze. Her shuddering moan and breath, while her fingers pulled at his hair, as he had sucked on her shiny, pink pearl hidden below the downy hair of her mound and crowning the petals of her deep, pink flower, was still fresh in his memory. And the recollection of her involuntarily spasms, her pushing him away while simultaneously giggling and whining, “Stop! Please, stop!” when he continued to suckle made him grin.

Eleanor shifted beneath his arm, and he glanced across his nose at her. “You liked that, no?” Her sole answer was a shy simper, a blush and burying her face from view in his chest. _I liked it too._ And come to think he had lambasted his friend Clipperton in the Talbot over his offensive speech once.

“So, I’ve been to the trial of your Queen of Nassau. Makes you wonder what is beneath the _hood_ of that icy exterior,” said Clipperton. “Is she blonde everywhere? I betcha that all that ice melts away if you tickle her.” Though John liked to dress as a gentleman, he was anything but, with a temper that flared easily but made amends just as quickly.

Rogers rolled his eyes. “Don’t be gross.”

Defoe said, “She is pretty for a pirate. It would be a pity to see such beauty hanged.”

“Ah, she’s not going to hang,” declared Clipperton with a dismissive wave of his hand. “Our governor-to-be here will offer her life for her help as informant.” He waggled his eyebrows at Rogers. “He just wants to make her squirm first, you bastard.”

Alexander Selkirk joined them with a new set of pints. When Rogers first met him on Juan Fernando, he was healthy looking, strong and cheerful. But his return to England and Scotland had turned him to drink and brawling again. Even his health had declined. He could outdo John easily in crassness. “I’d have her squirm and rub my red moustache against her blond beard until she pleads for mercy. Would save you the hassle of a trial.” He shook his head and wiggled the droopy prongs of his moustache. “I love nothing more than the glow on a woman’s face after that.”

Clipperton hooted. “That’s my man. Is that how you got that dairymaid to elope with you to London, with your tongue? Where is she by the way?”

“I seem to have misplaced her.” Selkirk and Clipperton laughed in unison.

The two men had sailed together on the expedition with Dampier in 1703. Alexander ended up marooned, while John ended up a captive of the Marquis of Villa-Rocha for four years. In the end, John returned to England a year after Rogers had saved and brought Selkirk back to England. Their vulgar talk had rarely bothered Rogers before. Despite the differences in family background and station, the sailor world as he had known it in Newfoundland was the sole company where Rogers felt he could be more himself. Not that he would ever be provoked into coarse language like them, but none of these men recoiled at the sight of his scar or judged him for his rasher bravery.

Something had provoked him that evening though. “Enough!” Rogers had slammed the palm of his hand on the table. “Miss Guthrie might be a pirate, but she comes from a finer stock than you two _buccaneers_. I won’t stand for such talk about a lady.”

“Oooh,” said Selkirk with a leer. “Sounds like our Mr. Rogers here actually likes the pirate he caught.”

“Not in the least,” Rogers replied coolly. “I don’t find her particularly attractive, and I would have preferred it if Captain Hume had caught those I actually wanted – the father and Flint. But I do admire how she managed to have such control over thousand pirates. The manner in which she carries herself during this trial not only shows her mettle but her class as well.”

“You just don’t want our words to ring as a memory in your ears whenever you have a _tête à tête_ with her,” griped Clipperton, while he nudged Selkirk with his elbow. “Get it? That’s fancy French for head to head.”

Guffawing, Selkirk spit ale, while Rogers slammed his fist in Clipperton’s face and Defoe clung to him to prevent him from doing any more damage. Baffled, John tested  his broken lip and swiped blood, while rage flared hotly in his dark eyes. Before Clipperton could swing at him though, Selkirk jumped on John to prevent an actual brawl. Clipperton shrugged Alexander off, muttering, “I’ll be fine. It’s not worth it.” And then to Rogers he said by way of apology. “I’ll buy you a drink. You’re right. It’s no way to talk about a fine lady.”

That had settled the matter, but darn Clipperton for being right. When he sat at her desk in her prison cell, while she wrote down the name of Charles Vane on a piece of paper and he studied her face for the first time from that close, some of that vulgar talk did ring in his ears and he even developed the onset of an erection. He had looked at her from the very beginning with an eye to censure in beauty and in character, but time and acquaintance had hushed the critic. Now, he started to believe the detractor had been born out of fear for his heart, a lie to drown out his soul murmuring that she could make him her slave the very first instant he had laid eyes on her.

“Yes, Dyson. What is it?” he had said when his manservant appeared in his library of his rented London home.

“A gentleman has come calling, sir. He says he’s the Captain of the _HMS Scarborough_ , Captain Hume, and he just arrived from the Bahamas at port with a prize, as you requested.”

Rogers dropped his pen and stood. “Show the man in, Dyson. This is great news! At last!” He welcomed the Naval Captain with a broad smile. “My manservant just told me the good news. You have Richard Guthrie!”

The captain raised his eyebrows. “Alas, you have been misinformed, Mr. Rogers. Richard Guthrie is dead, murdered by pirates.” He was not a tall man, of average height, like himself, but broad around the waist and rosy cheeked. His voice was surprisingly high pitched and he spoke with a slight lisp.

Baffled, Rogers blinked, but remembered his manners. “You have been on a long voyage, Captain.” He called out to his servant. “Dyson, bring us some refreshment.” He waved at his lounge chairs. “Sit, please. And you must stay for dinner this afternoon.”

“Very much obliged, sir,” said Captain Hume. He took off his hat, laid it down and eased himself in the lounge chair. All of his demeanor told Rogers that Captain Hume was a second or third son of nobility. Since such men did not stand to inherit in most cases, they usually had to make a living elsewhere, in the army or the navy.

“So, Richard Guthrie was murdered, you say.” Rogers pressed his lips together. “A great pity.” Without Richard he feared that he could forget further aid from Boston, and Richard was probably the sole man who could have transferred him all of Nassau smoothly for a pardon.

“As Governor Tailer requested I sailed for Harbour Island from Boston to arrest Richard Guthrie and hunt Captain Flint for you more than half a year ago,” the captain began his report. He disclosed how he happened upon both Flint and Richard at Richard Guthrie’s home. “I could have caught the two birds with one stone.”

Eager, Rogers sat up on the edge of his lounge chair. “You got Flint for me?”

Captain Hume sighed. “I wish it were so, but alas, not him either. Had I known Flint and several of his crew were there, I might have come with a bigger force, but unfortunately we were outnumbered. Both birds flew to New Providence, where I was expressly forbidden to go.”

Rogers sighed and nodded. “I understand, Captain. So, Richard sought refuge with the pirates.”

Dyson entered with a bottle of wine and glasses, and Rogers offered them to the captain with an obliging smile. Although in fact Rogers started to get impatient with the captain who did not return with the two men Hume had been sent out to retrieve. Having moved into these circles for a few years now though, Rogers knew to smile, appear interested and allow the arrogant windbag to take all the time he wanted to finally get to his point.

“I lay at anchor at Harbour Island for a fortnight, awaiting Captain Bryson of the Guthrie enterprise in Boston.” Captain Hume folded his hands together. “He is their best captain. Sailed Velazquez’ route for a decade and was never bordered. The Guthries of Boston entrusted him with the mission to liquidate Richard Guthrie’s holdings, warehouses and the rest of his business in Nassau as well as cooperate with me to set up a trap for Captain Flint.” Finally, Rogers actually started to get intrigued by Hume’s story. “A brave and loyal man, sir, this Bryson,” said Hume. “When the captain learned that Richard had fled to New Providence, he volunteered to go to Nassau, pretending as if everything was normal in order to gain access to Richard. He assured me that he could make Richard see reason to assure the implosion of commerce on the island in return for pardons in Boston.”

“And did it work?”

Hume grinned. “Sort of. Richard dissolved the business and sought refuge in the interior with the settlers.”

“Do they know of my coming?” Rogers suddenly asked worried. The least the pirates knew, the better.

“No. They only know that England’s eye has fallen on Nassau, but not how, who or when. Not even Bryson knew such particulars.”

Reassured, Rogers breathed a little more relaxed and gestured, “Please go on, Captain.”

Captain Hume continued his story, how Bryson had set up a trap to lure Flint into open sea and help Hume catch him. “Unfortunately we only caught up with Flint and the _Andromache_ by nightfall. Flint made sure to stay under the cover of darkness. Bryson sacrificed himself and blew up his ship with gun powder so I could locate him. Flint sailed off before I could get to him, however, not without losing one of his own crew members, whom I fished out of sea. I _convinced_ the young man to see reason.”

“Convinced him how?”

“Had him tied underneath soaked leather left to dry on the beach,” Hume said with some glee that made Rogers dislike the captain. “I offered him and nine men of his choosing pardons if he could deliver me Flint.” Hume sniffed his nose and shook his head. “To be truthful, I never saw that young man again, but ten others showed up – Captain Hornigold and nine of Flint’s crew - with an entirely different prisoner - Richard’s daughter, Eleanor Guthrie.”

At this point Rogers raised his eyebrows skeptically. “And what use is she to me?”

Captain Hume smiled, sat back, took the glass of wine and sipped from it. “Richard Guthrie ran the fencing operation from his fine looking house at Royal Harbour, but it was his daughter who oversaw his business in Nassau herself.”

Rogers eyebrows lifted even higher. “Richard had his daughter deal with the pirates?” _What sort of father was that? And what woman would even do that?_

“Oh, yes. You wanted the head of pirate commerce and a cunning fighter pirate willing to hunt other pirates? Richard is dead and Flint is God knows where. Admittedly, Captain Hornigold is not that young anymore, but experience makes up for a lot. And well, Eleanor, if ever anyone knows the pirates and how to control them it is she. It was all I could do in the time allotted to me.”

 _That’s what I have to work with – an old pirate who had been semi-retired already and some unnatural woman._ He pictured her as some hideous creature whom Richard had to hide from the rest of the world to scare those pirates into obeying him – a dragon whom the pirates themselves would not even lift a finger at.

“Under normal circumstances,” said Hume, “I should hand her to the Admiralty for her abetting in the treasonous practices of High Sea Piracy. But since you intended to make Richard your ally with a pardon to begin with and the Admiralty cooperates with whatever you require, I thought I would let you decide, first.”

“You haven’t turned her over yet?”

“No, sir.”

“She’s still aboard the _Scarborough_?”

Hume nodded. “If you wish it so, I can bring her here. Though I must warn you that she is far less reasonable than her father - and less of a coward. She barely ever knew civilization. Even tried to set up a consortium with pirates after her father dissolved their business - a true Pirate Queen. Not even her grandfather would lift a finger to protect her. Truth to be told. I think he’d rather see her hang than live.”

Deep in thought and deliberation, Rogers met Hume’s eyes. The captain seemed to enjoy this. Rogers dropped his arm onto the armchair. “I will not stand between you, your legal duty and your superiors, Captain. I trust your opinion in this. A trial and a conviction may make her see reason.”

After dinner, he escorted the captain to port and his ship, intending to return home immediately. But on the last minute, he changed his mind and told his driver to wait, just when Captain Hume and soldiers escorted Eleanor Guthrie, gagged and bound, across the plank. Rogers hardly could believe his eyes. If looks could kill, Captain Hume should have been long dead. But as fierce and angry as her eyes were, she was some dainty, fair looking young creature. _Not a dragon at all_.

For a moment, he almost instinctively had the urge to leave the carriage and order Captain Hume to escort her to his house, where he would offer her a pardon and reveal to her she need not fear him – some protective instinct. _Cunning, false and manipulative_ , Captain Hume had called her though during dinner. And so, Rogers reminded himself that a fair exterior was nothing but a deception, and said, “Drive on, Rogers.”

Of course, now Rogers realized that he would not have feared her renowned ability to manipulate if he himself had not felt vulnerable to her charms to begin with. He took Eleanor’s hand in his and brought her fingers to his lips.

Dozing, Eleanor floated on a sea of warm, gentle emotions and contentment. The image of him coming to her, already naked, and saying, “Let me,” to lift her chemise still burned into her memory.

He had gathered the silk of her underdress between his fingers around her hips and lifted it over her outstretched arms in one fell swoop. Then he held her chemise to his nose, while staring into her eyes, before he dropped it on the floor and pushed her shoulders to make her sit down on the bed.

“Lie down,” he had murmured and pulled the sashes of her stockings loose to unroll them, while he kissed her foot when first one and then the other dropped onto the floor. He reclined beside her and whispered, “I want to kiss you…”

As if under a spell, she had been unable to speak and solely nodded in answer. _Of course you can kiss me._ She adored kissing him. But he meant kissing all of her. He began with her lips, tongue, mouth, but then moved on to her throat, neck and nibbled and suckled her earlobe in such a way that she came to  believe she could reach an orgasm if he solely did that for the next half hour. Even his feathering kisses on the inside of her arm, her wrist and the palm of her hand coursed through her like tremors and shockwaves. Like a meticulous explorer he left no skin of her unchartered, and she was ever captivated in curiosity which section he would investigate next. Of course he had surveyed her breasts and her nipples – and the tip of his tongue trailing her areola and suckling of her nipple awoke a slow heating fire within - but also the sensitive skin between and underneath them. Oh, and her stomach and bellybutton. She never knew that her knees were that ticklish and yet she never wanted him to stop grazing his teeth over them. It had become a sweet torture of jolts.

At last, he had nudged her legs open and whispered hoarsely, “here,” as if all the preceding agonizing kisses had been a long pause before finishing his sentence.

Eleanor had tensed in anticipation, her breath was shallow and her heart beat a thousand thousand. But he made no move, until she finally lifted her head and gave her consent. She had shivered and quivered like a feather when he blew a breath on her, then barely touched her with the tip of his tongue. She shuddered when he pressed both lips on her and she melted when his warm tongue swiveled around to give her the most of exquisite pleasures. Whether this was a glorious hymn in heaven or positively sinful mattered not. She had wrapped her hand on his head and pushed her hips up, wanting more. When he started to suckle that divine, throbbing treasure of bundled pleasure doused nerves, all awareness unraveled and her mind went into oblivion, except for the wish that he would never stop. Only after she had become completely undone – she had no knowledge of time between beginning and ending - could she hear her own husky moans and sobs and thought for a moment she must have cramped a curling toe. And yet he still did not stop, and it was fast becoming too much, too ticklish, painful almost, oversaturated with delight, and she attempted to scramble away from his kiss. _No more. Enough._        

She had curled up on her side, to come back to earth and awareness, when he settled against her back, caressed her ass, kissed her earlobe and thrust inside her. That was a pleasure she could bear, and she met him by moving her buttocks in his lap and sought his mouth with hers. It was not long before he came hard breathing and fast, whispering her name. Since then, she had been smiling blissfully, hovering happily, feeling loved. And just to think it had all began very differently, after he asked her to stay.

Rogers remembered every delicious moment of it. Instead of a chest laden with gems and pearls, he had discovered one round, pink pearl on an island, hidden in a forest of soft, blonde curly hair and pink folds. With patient kisses and licks it shyly came out of its shell in all its glistening luster and excellent orient. It was as if she herself had entrusted him that pearl with its hard, hot and silky texture. And as he made love to it, he enwrapped himself with the wonder of her, hearing, feeling and seeing her in rapture of the pleasure only he gave her. How he had labored, patiently, not in darkness, but in the pouring candlelight of the many chandeliers. And there had been nothing crass about it. No, it had been an act of poetry. While he lay there, her snug in his arms and himself sated, he thought _, I may be in moral error, but this is no madness. Could be no madness. It was beautiful. It was joy. Look at how she glows!_ An accident got her caught in his pirate trap, but now he felt himself fortunate in every sense. _A thousand thousand._ And yet, he could have done it all wrong but an hour ago.

His head had been so full of what Vane had done to her, the understanding of the man’s hold on her, that when Eleanor intended to leave him by himself, the greedy clutches of jealousy overwhelmed him. The thought of Eleanor walking off to lay in a “pirate’s bed”; it was too much, even though Vane had never actually slept in it. In truth, he had felt that spike of jealousy before, when she admitted that Vane had been her lover. _But she is mine now. And only mine. She gave herself to me._

When he whispered her to stay, he felt like a beggar, clutching at straws instead of fisting her petticoat. He dragged her to him, pressing his mouth onto hers, passionately. The desire to possess her was ferocious. He ripped open her mantua, tore at the laces of her stay, enough to loosen it and cup a breast. His mouth lunged for her nipple, sucking it hard, grazing it with his teeth. And as they whirled around, struggling with clothes and limbs, they bumped into his desk. Items fell on the floor with a clangor. The chandelier wavered dangerously. He lifted her and set her on the desk and he tried to get the petticoat out of his way as he brazenly sucked her tongue into his mouth. She seemed to answer his lust in kind, for her fingers flew to unbutton him. Next, her delicate, cool fingers wrapped around his engorged cock and massaged him. Her thumb brushed across his tip, smearing the lubricating drop around. He had hissed in response.

What followed was a tug of war with clothes, limbs and tongues to get her beneath him, so he could fully claim her, fill her. He shoved her legs open, jerking his cock off for more lubrication and guiding himself to seek entrance, bumping against her inner thigh. He felt her hand at her mound and realized she tried to make herself wet enough for him. He opened his eyes and stared at the woman beneath him. Her eyes were drawn to their near union and her brow was furrowed with an anxious frown. _This is wrong_ , he realized suddenly. _Was this how it was for her with Vane? A complete act of abandonment, of lust._ He did not just wish to replace Vane. Rogers did not want to be the _next_ man at all. He wanted to be more to her, _the_ man.

Eleanor sat up, leaning her head on her elbow that rested on his chest. “What made you change your mind?”

“Huh?”

“The desk,” she whispered and lowered her eyes.

He reached for her face, caressed her cheek with his knuckles and tugged some of her blond tresses behind her ear. “It felt wrong, for our first night. You deserve better.” Then he squinted at her. “Why? Would you have preferred it?”

She blushed and buried her head in his chest. “No.” She peeked again from her hiding place. “Well, I mean. I’m certain I would like it. But it would have been different.”

One moment they had stood frozen, Rogers exhaling into her neck as he tugged at her skirt. Next, he was rough, impatient. And she had tried to cup his face, but his face lunged for her breast. A part of her, that wild part, was inherently excited to witness such animalistic passion in him. It was the type of ardor that had always excited her with Charles. _Now why was she thinking of Charles?_ And when he shoved her legs open, she quickly licked her fingers to lubricate herself. _Yes,_ she had thought as she surrendered, _drive the memory of him out of there_. But when nothing happened, Eleanor opened her eyes and stared into his deep blue eyes that had a wildness about them that she had rarely seen before. His face hovered over her, panting, his scar angrily illuminated in the shadows and dancing flames of the candles. _Why do you stop,_ she thought.

Eyes softening, Rogers had planted an almost pious kiss on her lips, stroked her face with his hands, leaning his forehead against hers. Next, he wrapped one arm beneath her legs, and the other around her back and carried her to his bedroom, kicking the door open with his boots. Her heart felt like bursting as he set her down carefully on the floor. _Why is he so wonderful to me?_ He slid his hands across her cheek, traced the tip of her nose with his finger, lifted her chin and kissed her lightly on the mouth. Rogers took a step back, turned around and began to undress – the jacket, the waistcoat, the stock-tie, toeing off his boots.

“Will she ever come here?” Eleanor bit her lower lip, ashamed of asking about his wife.

Rogers flicked his eyes at her. He shook his head. “She and I are separated.”

“Why?” _If he can be this wonderful to me, then why had his wife ever let him go? She must be crazy!_

Rogers blew a long breath, and disengaged his arm from her. She frowned at being pushed away from him. He got up, put on his men’s gown, and padded to his private office to pour himself a glass of limewater. He returned with a glass for her as well  and sat on the side of the bed, with his back to her. “Sarah and I were young. She had it all planned out though, our life.” He drank from his glass. “Life rarely happens exactly as we plan it. Instead there was financial loss, and then I left on my voyage for three years, left my family. I wasn’t even there when our third child was born, a daughter. I lost my brother.” He shifted and turned his head to her and pointed at his cheek. “Came back with this, full of bitterness, grief and bile. More financial loss. Our child died. I could not forgive her. She could not forgive me. It was all broken and impossible to repair.”

Eleanor sat up, letting the sheet drop away from her chest. She traced his scar again, and he closed his eyes, sighed and pressed his head into her hand. “You still love her.”

Rogers opened his eyes, pressing her hand to his cheek. “I always will. She is the mother of my children, even if I barely know them myself.”

She dropped her hand. It finally dawned on her what it meant to be the mistress of a married man in a civilized Nassau. He could spend a lifetime here with her, never return to England, never see Sarah again, but in the eyes of history and his own, Sarah would always be ‘wife and mother’. Eleanor could never be either. She might have the man, but never the status. It confused her, because she had never sought marriage or motherhood. Nor did she care about her reputation. It was that she felt like his wife in her heart, but neither he nor the rest of the world would ever look at her in that way.

Rogers took her hand and brought it to his chest. “Eleanor. Look at me.” She glanced up. “I wanted to show you how precious you are to me. You are my pearl, my good fortune. And I’m not going anywhere. I give you my word.”   

Eleanor decided that having the man was enough for her. She threw her hands around his neck and kissed him. Before long they were kissing like lovers again, while his hands went down to the small of her back, hesitated, and then squeezed her buttocks as he pressed her against him.

She pulled him back into bed, while he undid the sash of his robe, shrugged out of it and mumbled in between the kiss. “God, woman, you’re going to exhaust me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Talbot: historical pub in London, originally The Tabard (Chaucer in Canterbury Tales). After a fire in 1676 a new inn was rebuilt at the same site and renamed as the Talbot. 
> 
> John Clipperton: sailed with Woodes Rogers' book. He returned to England in 1712, while Selkirk returned with Rogers in 1711. A Pacific atol in Central America was named after him as Clipperton Island (discovered by the French in 1711). Allegedly, he used it to attack the coastlines of the Spanish Main. In 1719 Clipperton sailed as Captain for a privateering mission against the Spanish, around the world, captured his own previous captor Marquis de Villa-Rocha, governor of Panama, and returned home in 1722, only to die a week later. During this voyage he marooned two men on Juan Fernandez as punishment. I don't know whether he was friends with Rogers, but it wouldn't surprise me if he called on Rogers at least once.
> 
> Selkirk: became a celebrity after his rescue. After a few months in London he became his pre-marooned self - a brawler. He was charged with assault of a shipwright in 1713 in Bristol. He may have been kept in confinement for the ensuing two years. After Bristol he returned to Scotland where he met the dairymaid Sophia Bruce and eloped with her in 1717 to London, but does not seem to have married her. He enlisted with the Royal Navy and went back to sea on the HMS Seaworth on anti-piracy patrols off the West coast of Africa. He married a widow and innkeep Frances Candis in Plymouth in 1720. He died of yellow fever in December 1721 off the coast of Africa, Ghana, and was buried at sea.
> 
> Structure: the 'present time' and sole chronological scenes are Rogers' and Eleanor's pillow talk ending with Eleanor's insecurities regarding Sarah (parallels Rogers' jealousy of Vane). The sexual flashbacks are in reverse order - from Eleanor's climax to Rogers' original intent. The desk scene parallels Vane-Eleanor's first sex scene in S1(lust). Rogers puts his lust aside and makes love to her with a kiss. He is the seducer here. Rogers' not actively recalling that he penetrated her afterwards and climaxed, while Eleanor does remember it in terms of feeling desired and wanted. This emphasizes Eleanor as a love interest in Rogers' POV and parallels S2 Vane-Eleanor sex scene (softer version). 
> 
> London flashbacks: One contrasts the cunnilingus - a vulgar sex talk scene, while the act itself is loving to the both of them, and the missionary position and pure penetration intent on the desk becomes vulgar in Rogers' mind. The other flashback puts Hume's actions (and Bryson's) in S1 and S2 in a completely different light, as was hinted already. Rogers alone is responsible of Eleanor having to go through the trial. Rogers does an emotional retcon - now, he feels he loved her at first sight (Tempest's Fernando). This is not entirely true. But the chemistry was so strong that Rogers' heart senses he is vulnerable to Eleanor. When he then does give in to this completely (per his act of this chapter), all the thoughts, actions and behavior that attempted to halt the process become mere rationalisations and lies in retrospect.
> 
> Cupid & Psyche: a socially unrecognized wedding night, light over dark, sight over hidden, the attempt to climax closely together; Rogers as off-screen plot-mover of Eleanor's fate.


	20. King of the Island

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A young Rogers hears about Thomas Hamilton for the first time. An older Rogers debates Nassau in Lloyd's coffee shop and ends up being forwarded as governor. Rogers parlays with Flint.
> 
> (Rogers POV only)

When Rogers woke, Eleanor slept soundly on her side, her back to him and her arm beneath her head. His hand lay on her hip. He mostly saw her tousled hair, naked arm, shoulder and back. He gazed dreamily at the nymph in his bed. He felt like a king. Acquiring the personal devotion from an intelligent woman like Eleanor who can stand her own against the most cunning made him feel like he could conquer the world. Her standing by him had long impressed him with the sensation that she was his treasure, but making love to such a woman was well indescribable. It was tempting to nudge her awake. _That can all wait_ , he recollected himself. _Flint will not_. _Nor will Dyson_ , he panicked for a moment.

Before long, Dyson would appear to shave him and help him with his dress. He considered scuttling her off to her own room, before Dyson’s arrival. But he abhorred the idea of slipping secretly in and out one another rooms. If King Louis XIV’s mistresses were esteemed at Versailles as royal courtesans, well then Eleanor was due the same type of deference. _Except,_ a voice argued, _this is not Versailles, you’re not a king, and France isn’t riddled with puritans_. _It bloody well isn’t exactly England either_ , he argued back. Shame had served as Rogers’ restraint after their first fleeting kiss upon their arrival at Nassau. Now that he ought to feel it though, he felt none.

So, quietly, Rogers slipped out of his bed, washed, grabbed a shirt and cravat, and his more practical attire of subdued browns and earthen greens. By all accounts Flint seemed the least interested in appearances. Rogers closed the door silently and had his manservant called in. As Dyson walked to the door of his bedroom, Rogers said, “No need for that. Let her sleep in. I will break my fast downstairs, but I want you to bring some up and leave it here in my office for her.” He frowned. “I want coffee this morning.”

Dyson bowed his head. “As you wish, my lord.”

Downstairs, he gave Perkins instructions on the set up at the beach, east of the bay. “Oh, and get a flagon of the best wine you can find on the island, even if that’s my own cellar.” He walked to the dining hall, and Perkins fell in beside him. “Have the horses prepared – just horses, no carriage.” A morning horse ride might do him some good. “I want two regulars as guards, a back-up team, and have Hornigold warned to come with his watchman.”

“Will –“ Perkins pointed his finger to the ceiling.

“No, Miss Guthrie will not accompany me, and I do not want her disturbed.” He sat down and spread his napkin. “Are the men ready for the exchange with Anne Bonny?”

“They are mounting the carriage, sir.”

Rogers reached for a piece of raisin bread. “Eight able fighters, yes, with the order not to harm her and let her go free?”

“My lord.”

“If I hear that she was harmed, I’ll have them flogged.” He smeared some butter on the bread. “If she turns up dead, I’ll give them patrol duty at the other side of the island with nobody in sight for a whole month. They know this, right?”

“They have been warned, sir.”

“Good.” He took a bite, and indicated the servant waiting against the wall to serve him. “No, not tea. Give me coffee.” There were no plantations in the Americas of the black liquid, but he had stores of East Indy beans brought along with him. Mr. Lardener’s tasks on the island was to try and grow them. A small portion was reserved for Rogers’ personal use. Though he felt well rested, despite catching only a minimal amount of sleep, Rogers believed this was a morning where he could use a perk. “Oh, and one more thing, Lieutenant. When I’m not here, people under my command defer to Miss Guthrie.”

“Yes, sir.”

“That includes you.”

Rogers felt strong and fresh, when he mounted his horse, almost young again. He even challenged his men to a race. They probably let him win, and he rode the best stallion, but he did not let that spoil the idea he could still take up well-trained twenty-something soldiers in the prime of their lives.

Little than an hour later, Rogers enjoyed the sunrise on the beach, as he waited for the first sight of the _Walrus_. A white shade had been erected, under which stood a table and two chairs. A flagpole had been put up and a giant white flag flapped in the sea breeze. As the sky became a clearer blue, and the pink streaks vanished, Rogers pondered the story Eleanor could not tell -  his own story in relation to Thomas Hamilton. He was but a young man, father-to-be, with a rich house in Bristol and recent freeman when Lord Thomas Hamilton endeavored to push the pardons through in Whitehall. Rogers only learned of him, after the man had died and Sir Whetstone returned from the West Indies in Jamaica.

“Son,” said Sir William to him by the end of the family dinner. “Those French pirates are some of the worst. Dreadful business. Your good father dead, and now half your fleet taken. What do you intend to do about it?”

“Well, several of us want to petition for letters of marque to strike back.”

“Good! Those French need a good whooping. I caught and hunted plenty of those around Hispaniola.” He clapped Rogers on the shoulder. “About time you show your true worth at sea.”

“Oh, papa,” cried Sarah. “There is no need for Woodes to go himself. His captains can carry the letters –“

“Nonsense, Sarah,” pronounced her father for once. “You can’t expect a man to sit idle all day, up to his ears in baby swaddles when half his business is stolen from him. If you wished for a husband who would always be at home, you should have married a lawyer or a man of the church.”

“But papa, you were the one who demanded that I should marry a man of the sea.”

“Of course, I did. I don’t want my daughters wedded to a wimp. No man is a real man if he is not a man of the sea. Wouldn’t you agree, Woodes?”

“Yes, sir.”

Sir William smiled proudly to Rogers. “You had your years of leisure to establish a family. With your second child under way, you must ensure their future.” And before Sarah could pout over it, he said to her, “Now, go fetch my grandson and allow us real men our port and cigars and a moment’s peace.”

As soon as Sarah left the dinner room, Rogers said, “It might still take a while. It’s still in the early stages. I’m trying to interest investors.”

“Of course, son. No need to rush stupidly without a plan. I’ll do a good word for you amongst my contacts for the letters.  Just let me know in good time.” He sat back with his glass of port. “I would not deny my daughter much, nor should you. Sarah deserves the best. But never let a woman interfere with what you ought to do. Give her some more babies to fuss over, and she’ll soon want you out of her way, anyway.”

Rogers smiled. “I thought of Madagascar.”

Sir William shook his head. “Too much trouble for little worth and you’ll have the East Indy Company to contend with. The West Indies, I’d say. Plenty of Spanish prizes to be had. Those bastards of Cartagena made a mistake when they declared they know no other sovereign but King Philip.”

“Lots of competition there with other privateers, sir.”

“Ah, yes. Well, you could always go ‘round the Horn and attack the Spanish Main from the west. At the Caribbean they are too well armed against the pirates of Nassau.” Sir William lit a cigar. “Worse than the French. English who attack other English, neutral or allied ships? Traitors the lot of them. And to think Alfred Hamilton’s own son proposed to pardon them.”

“Who?”

“The earl, one of the Lord Proprietors of Carolina and the Bahamas. His eldest son, Lord Thomas, drew up a plan to deal with Nassau. Some idle radical who wanted to pardon those traitors, believing he could put them to honest work.” Sir William was a man who could bluster and blow hot air, but Rogers had rarely seen him so worked up about a man. “His father was never so embarrassed. But then Lord Thomas discovered that his wife had an affair with his best friend, a naval officer. After the lovers fled England, he lost all his wits and committed suicide in the asylum. Well good riddance to all three, I say.” He leaned closer. “I met that officer, this McGraw, in Port Royal. Looked like a fine, young fellow, a protégé of Admiral Hennessey. He inquired about all I knew of Nassau. Gave him access to all he needed to draw up plans. Can you imagine my shock when I later learned what a radical that rascal was.”

Most of what Sir William rambled on about held little interest to him at the time, but Rogers found Hamilton’s idea intriguing. Though he knew better than to say so to his father-in-law.

After he started his life in London, Rogers met his publishing liaison Daniel Defoe in the coffee house _Chapter_ at Paul’s Alley. Their acquaintance became a friendship and he got introduced into Defoe’s political circle. The issue of piracy was a hot topic and Hamilton’s ideas were openly discussed. Times had changed. Alfred Hamilton, Sir William and Hennessey were dead. The Tory government worked on a peace treaty with Spain and France. Queen Anne’s health was failing and a new king was expected to take the throne soon. His plans for Nassau truly were born in _Lloyd's_ on Lombard Street.

“Hey, Rogers!” hailed Shelvocke when he entered Lloyd’s. The all dominating aroma of pulverized coffee beans welcomed him. Rogers took off his tricorn and shook the rain droplets off. Plenty of other men there greeted him, clapping on the shoulder or shaking his hand – merchants, captains and cartographers he knew, or at least they knew him. He walked across the shaved wooden floor, nearly tripping over a spittoon, towards his befriended colleague who was out of a job and surviving on half-pay. Shelvocke nudged the other man on the spartan bench “Come on, Hatley, make some room for our friend.”

Rogers barely recognized Hatley. Simon Hatley had been a well built man in his mid twenties with sandy hair and an honest smile when he sailed with Rogers on the _Duke_. A trustworthy man, and the only man both crews of the Duchess and the Duke trusted to keep a record of the prize-money. But in just five years, Hatley looked older than Rogers and had a haunted look about him. And yet, when Hatley shook his hand and smiled, some of the younger Simon reappeared. “Good to see you, Captain.”

“Jesus, Hatley, I believed you lost. Since when are you back?”

“Couple of months ago, just in time to collect 180 pounds sterling from our expedition’s prizes. Bought myself a house in Woodstock.”

Rogers chuckled grimly. “Well, then you got more out of it than I did.”

“Yeah, I heard. Sorry, Captain.”

Rogers shook his head, signaling to forget about it. “But tell me what happened to you? We searched for you when we lost sight of you around the Galapagos Islands.” Rogers had put Hatley in charge of a Spanish prize ship. 

“I had to make landfall for fresh water. We got caught by the Spanish.” Simon squinted one eye and made a face – bad luck. “I was a prisoner at Lima until a year ago.”

“You earned your 180 pounds sterling  then.”

“Simon,” said Shelvocke. “Let Captain Rogers have his coffee first, so he can tell us the news of his Madagascar exploits.” Then to Rogers he explained, “Nassau is the debate topic of the day.” He waved at one end of the coffee room. “That end of the room says we should just burn the whole place down and start anew, while the other half there is in favor of Hamilton’s pardon plans.”

The noise in the coffee house became a hush with many of the men watching Rogers order his coffee and give the servant boy a penny for it. As he drank his first sip of the hot, bitter black liquid the whole room shouted, “What news from Madagascar, Captain Rogers?”

He laughed, set his cup down, threw his arms up as if surrendering. “A long list of pirates begging to become English citizens.”

This evoked a cheer from the pardon side, while a whole new debate erupted over the East Indy Company’s chances of retaining their monopoly amongst those, who also frequented _Jonathan's._ The East Indy Company had already given Rogers to understand he could forget about a Madagascar Company, but he was not one to spoil the stock brokers’ fun and kept that to himself. Aside from a few hard-liners, the majority of the burn-it-all-down side surrendered to Rogers’ news and quickly moved on to the argument how best to weaken the Pirate Republic of Nassau.

Edward Lloyd’s son-in-law, William Newton, had become the proprietor of Lloyd’s coffee house after Edward’s death the year before. Newton rarely participated in the debates, except to tell what opinion late Edward Lloyd would have held. “My late father-in-law would say you hit the market first.” This was met by a cheer from the stock brokers.

“Well, you’d need to convince the Boston Guthrie clan of that,” said a Boston tradesman. “They all like to pretend the youngest son, Richard, is the black sheep of the family, but they send shipping goods every fortnight and allow him use of their merchant fleet to take the pirated goods to Carolina or Massachusetts Bay. Nothing happens in Nassau without their permission.”

“A pardon for Richard Guthrie!” clamored the original pardon-side.

“And one for a pirate captain!” Rogers added. “Get the mightiest pirate of them all, offer him a pardon, and if he turns, then surely the rest will follow.”

Soon the coffee house got into a heated debate who was the most notorious pirate of the West Indies. “Avery!” was hooted down immediately with, “Not some dead legend!” And for the next half hour a faction debated whether Henry Avery was dead or not, and if so where he died.

There were cries for Henry Jennings,  Benjamin Hornigold, “Black Sam” Bellamy, Blackbeard, Charles Vane and Flint. The debate between the merchants and captains over who was the most fearsome pirate of the West Indies reigned _Lloyd’_ s for a week, with men dragging survivors of an encounter to the coffee house. Rogers listened.

“Flint,” argued Rogers by the end of the week. “It has to be Flint,” and he made his case. “There have not been recent sightings of Hornigold. Blackbeard does not even operate from Nassau anymore. And the _Wydah_ sank off the coast at Cape Cod. That leaves Vane and Flint. Vane sounds like a fickle butcher – brutally successful but no out of the ordinary naval tactics.”

“He killed more men than Flint,” argued a Vane fan.

“That might be, but if you’re going to pardon the most formidable pirate of Nassau then you would want to make use of him too. While Flint may have killed a Lord Proprietor, Alfred Hamilton, on the _Maria Alayne_ , those who surrender to him have the highest survival rate. If the Crown pardons Flint for the earl, all the other pirates will know England to be sincere. Flint uses high naval strategy tactics. If he were not a pirate, the navy would put him in command of a fleet.”

“That settles it then. Rogers for governor!” shouted Shelvocke. “Well, if they don’t give you Madagascar,” he quipped privately.

“He might have a hard time convincing the Lords Proprietor of Carolina of giving him a license if he pardons the murderer of their colleague,” warned another against Shelvocke’s cheer.

But as Rogers himself became the subject of debate as the man for the job, he soon gained support in Lloyd’s that reached the ears of other men in London. Before long, men with political ties called on him, and eventually he managed to sway the West Indy Company, investors, the Admiralty and the crown. The Lords Proprietor of Carolina were, as predicted, skeptic at best. But when news arrived that Boston was willing to hand him Richard Guthrie, the Lords Proprietor finally agreed. After Vane burned Charleston, the Guthrie empire had collapsed and Flint went on a murder spree in the colonies, everybody was desperate enough to give Rogers all he wanted. He was the sole volunteer with the brevity and persistence to solve the pirate issue in the West Indies. That Captain Flint turned out to be Lieutenant McGraw made Rogers feel as if God had been pulling all of their strings for a long time. Eleanor, Flint and Rogers were inexplicably tied by fate.

The sun climbed the sky and, as he looked across the sea, Rogers thought he saw the glimmer of sails on the horizon. No man from the island had ventured on here to be recruited by Flint. At least that part of the scheme had worked. The sun climbed higher and on the water a tiny launch came their way. Rogers tapped the table’s surface with his fingers. “About bloody time,” he mumbled. _And now it ends_.

Another half hour passed before the launch beached. Two rowers tied it up, while a tall, muscular man in leather trousers, gun belt, broadsword, black shirt and justaucorps jumped out into the rolling surf. His copper hair was uncommonly short, as if shaved, and he had a moustache and goatee beard. McGraw certainly looked the formidable pirate. Grim faced, he trudged through the sand to the table and measured Rogers head to toe with blue-grey eyes. Rogers grimaced and invitation Flint to sit with him. Flint’s jaw flexed as he looked down on the chair beside him, but he chose to sit down, folding his hands together in front of him. 

“Lord Thomas Hamilton,” Rogers said with a friendly smile, as he watched Flint’s features falter at the mentioning of the name. “I didn't know him, but I understand you did.” Flint’s icy blue eyes seemed for a moment to glance into the past, rather than him. And though he hid it well, Rogers got the impression that Flint was indeed shocked that Rogers knew Flint’s true identity. “Miss Guthrie tells me you were part of the first effort with Lord Hamilton and Peter Ashe to introduce the pardon to Nassau. As with most things, the men first into the breach bear the heaviest casualties.” Rogers paused for a moment and heaved a breath. “But in the hindsight of victory, they were the ones whose sacrifice made it possible. Without Lord Hamilton's efforts, your efforts, it's likely I wouldn't have been successful in my efforts to finally secure the pardon.” Flint glanced away and a hint of a smile appeared. “All I have done here is finish what you began. I am now what you were then. And without you, there would be no me.”

Flint grinned and slowly nodded. “Clever.”

Rogers smiled back and gestured apologetically. “Thank you.”

“So that's what this is. We're all reasonable men, we all want the same thing. You offer me a pardon, I accept it, this all ends?”

Rogers shrugged his shoulders. “Maybe.” He pointed at the table. “The pardons are on the table. No one is being hanged. No one's even being tried. They've all been forgiven, just as you wanted. Just as Thomas Hamilton wanted. So what is it that you're fighting for that I'm not already offering?”

Flint flinched at the repeated mentioning of his friend’s name, and as Rogers spoke to him he looked away, teeth clenched. “Thomas Hamilton fought to introduce the pardons to make a point.” Flint looked at him again. “To seek to change England. And he was killed for it.” Rogers understood why he would be bitter about it. It was a nasty story. “His wife and I went to Charles Town to argue for the pardons, to make peace with England, and she was killed for it.” Flint raised his voice. “England has shown herself to me. Gnarled and gray and spiteful of anyone who would find happiness under her rule. I'm through seeking anything from England except her departure from _my_ island.”

“It was England's island first,” said Rogers. “I don't imagine she's going to let it go easily-”

“I don't imagine she would,” Flint interrupted him, shaking his head as if he did not care one jot.

“I see. So there we are, then.”

“There we are, then,” Flint agreed in a hostile tone.

Though it was clear that Flint did not care for his former ideals and had broken all ties with England, Rogers could not simply abandon the attempt. If not for himself, at least Flint could consider his crew. “What a story you'll have to spin to your men to turn me into the kind of villain worth losing their lives over.”

Flint smiled at him. “I've lived on the other side of those stories. I'm sure I'll figure something out.”

“I'm sure you will,” grinned Rogers. Both men nodded at each other, smiling. Though inwardly Rogers sighed. It was a pity. He would have liked McGraw in another life. But he was not afraid of doing what needed to be done, if necessary. He never had. It was time to take the gloves off. “Then let us be very clear about something. I am reasonable in seeking peace. But if you insist upon making me your villain, I'll play the part. So let us assume that, as of this moment, the unqualified pardon is no more.” Flint’s smile was gone and he watched Rogers, dour faced. “From this moment on, any man participating in the act of high seas piracy will be presumed to be one of your men, an enemy of the state. I will hunt him, I will catch him, and I will hang him. And while I am aware of your feelings on the subject, I am no backwater magistrate cowering in fear of you. You know where to find me.”

Flint pursed his lips, nodded, looked aside and rose. The man gave Rogers one last icy look, turned and trudged back to his launch where his two men waited for him.

 _Damn_ , Rogers thought. He knew he had made a mistake when he mentioned Thomas Hamilton for a second time. The bitter reminder had cut too deep into Flint. Rogers had seen the hardening in Flint’s eyes. _And yet, even if I hadn’t, this parlay would have had the same conclusion. It was decided in Charleston, by Lord Peter Ashe_. Alfred’s murder had been a personal vendetta against the father who had opposed his son into an early grave. Lord Ashe grew into an ardent pirate hunter, because of it. Too late, it struck Rogers as quaint that Alfred was the one who had promoted Peter Ashe to governor of Carolina in the first place, despite the fact that Lord Ashe had tried to get the pardons through Whitehall. _Did Lord Ashe betray Thomas in 1705 already?_ If such was the case, then the plan of Eleanor, McGraw and Lady Hamilton had been doomed to fail from the onset when they chose to trust Ashe.

Rogers sat and waited, tapping the table angrily until the launch was out of sight. His back-up emerged from behind the dune. He waved at the table and chairs. “Clean this whole place up again, and have Hornigold set up a look-out to make sure Flint actually sails off.”

He stomped through the sand to his horse in a fury. _Damn the man. Damn Ashe. Damn England!_ _And damn this heat!_ Rogers got onto his horse and galloped as if he was leading a charge, if only to have the breeze created help him cool off. He could have cared less about Teach and Vane. He had Rackham in his fort and off to Havana by the end of the day. But after meeting Flint, he knew this was not a man he wanted as an enemy. Flint and him were two of a kind – risk takers, ambitious, fighters, scarred, knowing how far they would go to succeed, fully aware what sacrifices they would make for it. In time, he would have made Flint more than a pirate hunter had he accepted the pardon. He’d have made him commander of a Nassau fleet. That whole crew was probably worth as much as half the former pirates on the island. _Damn the stubborn mule_. And yet, perhaps exactly because they were so alike, them being at opposing sides was inevitable. Neither of them were like to tolerate each other’s equal above the other. _This will not end, before one of us is dead. Still, he won’t get my island._  

He clattered onto the market square, jumped off the horse and stormed into the mansion. “Any word yet about the exchange?” he asked Major Andrews.

“None, my lord. But six of my men have reported to the sick bay.”

 _More bad news_. Rogers sighed and his face was that of a storm. He felt itchy and sweaty and started to tear his stock-tie loose. He needed a bath and a change.

As he raced up the stairs to his apartment, Perkins opened his mouth. “Sir!”

Rogers stopped and looked behind him at Perkins in the Assembly Hall with dozen of men staring at them. “What is it?”

Perkins looked about him, shook his head. “Nothing, sir.”

Ignoring the regulars stationed in his corridor, Rogers entered his apartment like a tempest, only to tumble into the stunning vision of Eleanor, perched on a chair, in her chemise eating her breakfast, one naked leg pulled up and her foot resting on the seat of the chair on which she sat. He had completely forgotten he had left her asleep in here. Or he at least had expected her to have been up and about at least an hour ago, at her own apartments.

Eleanor looked up at him with wide eyes as she licked marmalade from her finger. Rogers gawked at the jarring sight of her – pale, radiant skin, blonde tousled hair that fell like a wavy curtain, the suggestive finger between her lips, wide blue eyes, a sudden rosy blush endowing her cheeks. His eyes trailed her back as far as her chest, following the shape of her perky breasts, the darkened areola visible through the shift, the nipple puckering against the fabric as much as his erection strained against his trousers. Lower his eyes went to the taper of her waist, stalking the rounded cheeks of her heart shaped arse, the shadowy single dimple at the base of her back, left to her smooth thigh, pale as ivory, and the darker pink shadows he glimpsed beyond. He desperately needed some relief from the blow of this morning. So, he kicked the door closed behind him with his boot, took two tornado strides towards her and dragged her up on her feet. If he was the King of Nassau, then even the Queen must submit to him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sir William Whetstone -  
> (1696-1699) captain of HMS Dreadnought in Newfoundland, while Woodes apprenticed there from 1697-1704. (1702-1703) commodore of the West Indy fleet in Jamaica, appointed as local rear admiral.  
> (1704-1706) commander-in-chief in Jamaica after his knighthood. Tried to convince Cuba and Cartagena to declare for the Habsburg King Charles (favourite of England and allies) instead of Philip (favourite of Louis XIV) as King of Spain.  
> (1711) Whetstone died half a year before Rogers returned from his 'round the world voyage.
> 
> George Shelvocke - started in the Navy, serving in the Mediterranean as second Lieutenant. By 1713 he was beached on half-pay (end of the war). He lived in poverty until he privateered alongside Clipperton in 1719 against the Spanish as Captain of the Speedwell. Shelvocke broke away from Clipperton as soon as they were out of British waters and voyaged alone for the most part. He wrecked on Juan Fernandez and was marooned there for five months, but rebuilt a boat with timber and wreck salvage, and then proceeded to catch prizes and sailed around the world. He carried Rogers' book with him and wrote his own to contest the accusations that he had failed to inform the shareholders on all of his prizes. He died a wealthy man in 1742. 
> 
> Simon Hatley - sailed with Rogers and was captured by the Spanish, imprisoned in Lima and badly treated. He returned to England in 1713. As a junior officer on Rogers' voyage (captain of a prize) he received £ 180 (equivalent of little less than £ 25,000 now). He sailed as second captain under Shelvocke on the Speedwell, and got caught while captaining a prize ship in March 1720. He ended up a prisoner in Lima, again. They wanted to hang him this time. When the war ended in February 1720, the Spanish released all the captured Britts, except Hatley (in chains and solitary). Due to Shelvocke's unambiguous piracy of Spanish ships during official peace time, Spanish authorities saw Shelvocke as the major culprit. This indirectly saved Hatley's life. He was released in 1723, returned to England. No reward awaited him, because Shelvocke had divied the prizes on the spot and kept part of it secretly. Hatley could not risk any more privateering. He went to Jamaica and served as a sailor there. He is commemorated in the Rime of the Ancient Mariner by Coleridge. Shelvocke described in his book how a superstituous Hatley shot an albatross while they were beset with storms near Cape Horn. Hatley hoped it would give them better wind. 
> 
> Coffee shops - They were frequented to discuss business, writing, politics, insurances with a sober head (instead of ale that could cloud the minds). The men were there all day, drinking coffee (addicts!) and women (banned) pamphleted against coffee drinking for it kept their men 'idle'. Charles II (of England) tried to ban them - politics and the crown were discussed and debated openly. Reading and talking about anything at these places was the symbol of English liberty. Men of all class could go there: for a penny a man could have a cuppa of unlimited refills, access to papers and news notice boards ('penny universities'). Different shops serviced different clientele, divided over profession or subject. Edward Llloyd's for marine business and news (Lloyd's list) evolved into Lloyd's marine insurance market. Jonathan's coffee house issued a list of stock and commodityr prices, starting the London Stock Exchange. Sotherby's and Christie's originate from coffee houses too. Physicians used Batson's coffee house as a consulting room. Chapter was the place to be for publishers and booksellers. Scientists met at the Grecian, playwrights at Will's, etc. By mid 18th century entrance fees were asked and the gentlemen's clubs were born. Edward Lloyd died in 1713. His son in law died a year later.


	21. The Mistress

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eleanor looks forward to good news, peace and prosperity. Eleanor and Rogers find each other in the darkness of lust.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Graphic Warning - explicit shameless sex scene.

Yawning, Eleanor stretched herself, rolled around on her back, opened her eyes and for a moment wondered why her bed looked different and her window was at the wrong side of the wall. Her arm flopped down and she smiled. _Now, I remember_. She turned over to her other side. She was alone, but she could still see the impression of his body in the mattress. She reached for his cushion, pulled it close and buried her face in it, grinning. Enveloped by the traces of his male smell and closing her eyes, her head swam with the sound of his voice and the sharp image of his face, the way his eyes moved, or his jaw flexed peculiarly because of the scar, the feeling and greediness when they kissed last night, or the feel of his arousal brushing against her, and now the residual soreness and ache of what they had done, trying to be one. _There is no better feeling than that._ That first night after it had been a while and they wanted each other so bad they just cannot get enough. _He could not get enough of me._

She had such butterflies at the thought of it, that Eleanor screamed in his cushion and kicked her feet on the mattress _. I’m the luckiest woman in the world, at the very least of the island._ Having had hours to kiss him, feel his face with her hands, lips and cheeks, see it from that close, he was now more handsome to her even than the day before. In her eyes, eyes in love, there existed no handsomer man. Eleanor hugged the cushion to her heart, rolled onto her back and gazed dreamily at the ceiling. She closed her eyes once more and remembered the feel of the strength in his arms, the movement of his muscles against her own skin. _Slender, but strong nonetheless._ She blushed at thinking the same of his arse. And finally she thought of his erection. She had loved the sight of it, and the feel of it when she stroked it. _I want to kiss it. Not as big or heavy  as Charles, not as wide_ \- the morning-after soreness was not that painful for it - _but elegant, silky, beautiful, just… just perfect!_

Eleanor could hardly wait for his return. Not seeing, not hearing, not feeling or having him around for that half hour while her mind in love was awash with him was agony. _I will just wait for him here, in bed, when he returns with the good news that Flint took the pardons_. It never even crossed her mind that Flint would refuse, not after meeting and talking with Rogers. If anyone could convince Flint then it would be Rogers. Both men essentially shared the same dream, her dream. And she did lay in bed like that for a while, waiting, listening concentrated at the sound of a coach, or horses, or his step in the hallway, or the creaking of the hinges of an opening door.

But there was none of that – only the sound of a smith hammering away, people talking on the market square, voices below in the kitchen. Time seemed to go by so slow, too slow. And she felt too excited, giddy and impatient to lie like this for much longer. She was actually not even sure what time it was – well past sunrise at  least. She blew out a sigh. _Of course, it might be that Flint has not even yet arrived at the beach, or the parlay might take a while._ All of a sudden, Eleanor could not stand the wait anymore. She pushed herself up, stepped out of bed and padded to the washing stand. After lathering herself she dropped her own chemise in the soapy water. She put on Rogers’ robe while her chemise dried and chanced a peek into his office. A tray of choices to break her fast stood ready on the tidied desk. And when she glanced out the window onto the square, she realized it was at least well past early morning.  _He really wants me here_ , she smiled.

When her chemise was semi-dry, she put it on, thinking it would dry quicker on her skin, and began to eat her breakfast. Today two major issues would be solved – the cache would be retrieved and Flint would have accepted the pardons by now. And then Nassau would be safe and could prosper. There was still so much to do and rebuilding required, after so many years of neglect, standing still, or worse destruction. Eleanor marveled at the idea that she might actually for once live in a safer, secure and better world. She was not even sure anymore what that felt like. And cared for and respected by a truly good man – a man who wanted others beside himself to prosper, who put the safety of Nassau and its people first.

Eleanor had nearly finished all of her breakfast. There was only some strawberry marmalade left in its serving jar, her favorite. When she was little, her mother would present self-made strawberry jam on the table in a separate jar for her, before putting on her Sunday dress for church. She’d be allowed not to mind her manners and scoop up the extra with her finger. And so, indulging herself in that childhood pleasure, she set her foot on the seat of the chair she sat on, just like then, pulled her finger through the marmalade, scooped it up and popped her finger in her mouth.

Heavy steps walked through the corridor, the door flew open and in walked Rogers like a whirlwind, his eyes storming with a dark fury. He stopped dead in his tracks to gape at her and she stared back at him, wide eyed. A chill of dread ran down her spine, as his eyes became hard and calculating. She was caught unawares when he seized her arm and dragged her to her feet.

“Wha –“ she tried to say, but he silenced her with his hard, ravenous mouth and almost forcibly willed her mouth and tongue to welcome him.

An entirely different beast than anger or lust raged inside Rogers – not passion, nor possessiveness, but dominance. Eleanor had vowed she was committed to him, but that was easy to say to a lovemaking hero. _Is it true in the face of my darker self when I take what I need?_ In this ruthless state, he had nothing to give and could only demand sacrifice. His callousness had killed his brother, made him a stranger to his own children and his wife despised him for it. _Can Eleanor pledge to such a person? Can she be there for me, when I am in darkness, wounded and isolated? Or will she betray me then?_    

Though initially surprised, Eleanor received his demanding tongue without brokering opposition or even moderating him. A wave of commanding lust from the man she coveted did not frighten her, nor appall her. It excited her. His desire only made her yearn for him just as much, while his sway made her very willing to comply and let herself be swept away by it. Her hands went around his shoulders, beneath his justaucorps and she helped him to shrug out of it.

Her receptiveness gentled him enough by a margin. Being assured that she welcomed it, his kiss was still greedy and deep, but slower and relishing. He tugged at the last sleeve to fling his coat aside, before putting his hands around her shoulders. Gingerly, he caressed her spine, all the way down to the small of her back, round to the curves of her bottom. He pulled her hips against his loins into his evident need. A throaty moan escaped him as lust blasted through him, shooting along his spine. He started to break the kiss, took her lower lip between his teeth and rolled his pelvis against her.

She shivered when she felt his bulge press against her and her gut cringed with anticipation. When he let go of her lower lip, she bemoaned it. Eleanor stood on her toes, leaning against his chest, trying to reach his lips again with her own. Last night’s roles were reversed. He took initiative and control and he had no intention of handing it over. He stepped away from her and noticed the frustration appear on her furrowed brow when all she could kiss was air. She opened her eyes at him, her breath coming rapidly, her chest heaving.

Rogers had actually backed a good step away from her and began to unbutton his waistcoat. The squall inside him had stilled to that of the eye of the tempest. His blood and hormones raced through his veins, but at its center - in mind, heart and cock he felt a predatory calm. He met her yearning gaze and lifted his chin slowly towards the desk, while he removed the waistcoat. Never breaking eye-contact, Eleanor slowly backed up against the desk. She seated herself on top of it and rested each foot on the two chairs in front of it, her legs only slightly open.

When Rogers gestured his head again, indicating to spread her legs wider, it stirred her even more. Electrified, she pulled her chemise slightly up, placed her feet further apart, brushed her hair aside and eased back to lean on her elbows. Her blue eyes were becalmed like the Saragossa sea and settled on his bulge. She did not challenge him or question him. She was neither vulnerable nor beckoning. Eleanor simply was, waiting for him.

His chest heaved deep, slow breaths. His throat was dry, his head emptying, his heart tranquil, his erection hardening.  Involuntarily licking his lips, Rogers stepped towards her. He looked down on her legs while his hands slid across her knees and thighs. His thumbs rippled along the muscles of her inner leg. He grabbed her hips and pulled her towards him, making her legs fold open and forcing her to lie on her back. Rogers lay his hand on her stomach and rubbed the shift upwards, staring at her mound, the curly hair, the deep pink folds. He marveled at the sight of her honeyed flower in the daylight, and it was all his. That Eleanor seemed excited by the fact made it all the more piquant.

Tantalizing, her excited nipples puckered against the damp chemise. He hovered over her, dipped his hungry mouth to her breast and sucked at her nipple through the chemise. Eleanor whimpered. He savored the sensation of his blood filling his cock until it strained hard against his trousers, his tip itching for her, his balls throbbing. He glorified at her nipple hardening and bouncing against his tongue. Meanwhile his hand went to her other breast and he brushed her other nipple with the flat of his palm.

All wound up, Eleanor brought her hand to her forehead, pushing her chest up to him. Wild with desire, she wanted more, so much more. The pleasurable sensation that began at her nipples coursed through her brain, along her spine, gave the butterflies in her belly wings and filled her with a pulsating longing for him. She was so ready for him. “Oh, please, fuck me,” she begged.

Rogers grinned inwardly. Eleanor was the island – sensual, beguiling, instinctive, fucking hot, and only his, completely his. She even smelled of the island, the spices, the sea, salty, feminine and of sex. He let her nipple go, stood upright, unbuttoned his trousers, yanked her hips closer to him, and prodded his cock to guide it between her swollen, slick folds. He rapidly rubbed the foreskin over the head back and forth until it shimmered with pre-cum. All he had eyes for was his cock penetrating her moist entrance that started to give way for him. Eleanor’s inner walls were still snuggly collapsed against one another. Rogers continued to stroke his cock to lubricate her anterior and nudged into her. He hissed at this limbo state of only being partially sheathed. Another flare of lust gushed through him. Slowly but surely, her muscles started to part and he prodded deeper and deeper, feeling the ripple of the muscles as they stretched and molded tight around him, until he was nestled profoundly into her moist heat. What a welcome. Feeling dizzy for a while, Rogers panted, readying himself for the sensation of retreat and straining every muscle to hold himself still. Right then her muscles squeezed.

“Don’t,” he rasped through gritted teeth, closing his eyes for a moment. He was unsure whether it had sound like a barked order, or a desperate plea, but she relaxed again around him.

He pulled back slowly, and his knees nearly buckled at the far smoother retreat while he moaned at the pleasure of it. He did not completely withdraw – never - just enough until his tip was settled at her anterior pillow. Rogers’ patience was close to its end. He wanted to fuck her, not just nudge her. He thrust sharply into her, burying himself deep until he could sink no further. He grunted. Eleanor yelped. The desk moved an inch and groaned in protest. He retreated in the same fashion and drove into her, deep and hard. Again… and again… and again, in a slow, meticulous hammering rhythm, while Eleanor gasped high-pitched whimpers and he grunted or mumbled in mono-syllables, until instead of a tunnel he needed to drill into, her rose bloomed and became a warm, silky smooth pillow that caressed his cock excitingly. He cursed.

Eleanor arched her back, threw her hips upwards to meet him and cried in loud moans with every one of his thrusts. The desk creaked beneath her and griped when it was shoved an inch further. Each and every deliberate deep penetration pushed her closer to the brink in jumps, with that incessant, slow and hard rhythm of his. Bam… bam… bam. His pelvis pressed and rubbed against her swollen, throbbing nodule, while the ridge of his tip stroked back and forth along the bulge of her anterior wall for an exquisite, torturous instant before driving deep into her. Eleanor grabbed for the desk’s rim behind her, to cling to something as her body started to tense and she angled her hips to maximize her own pleasure. Papers and a statue fell to the floor. With his next deep and slow thrust she cried out loudly in ecstasy. She could hardly believe how fast she was nearing her peak.

Her shrill whimpers and sobs managed to penetrate the awareness of his mind marinated in bliss. Rogers had been so isolated in his own physical need, so intent on taking what he must have for his own gratification, at his own pace, that he had not expected Eleanor to climax from this. It was as if she had jumped into his dark world and met him there, and he was not alone at all. They fucked each other, and yet even so, tumbled into a world of love in the lustful darkness of both their souls. "Oh, fuck. Eleanor!" he called out in joy.

Her foot lost contact with one chair, and when her other leg jerked with a particular thrust of his that caused even more friction than the previous ones, the remaining chair clattered to the floor. Eleanor cried bitterly, 'Woodes!", for without the help of the chairs it was near impossible to angle her hips and tense her body so that the she could make the last hurdle to the pinnacle of satisfaction. She was so near, only to have it slip through her fingers at the last effort. “Help me!” she moaned desperate, grappling.

Incapable of ignoring her plea, now that she was there with him, not wanting to lose her from this place they shared, Rogers grabbed her hips, held them up steady in the air like a tether for the both of them. She wrapped her legs around his thighs. She was surprisingly strong. Rogers retreated, evoking a moan from her lips that urged him on, and he slammed into her again. He croaked her name, feeling like he was losing his mind. Like a beating hammer, he pounded into her, rolling his pelvis, deep, over and over and over, slowly but surely quickening his pace.

Eleanor did not know whether she jumped from the cliff to the lifeline of her orgasm, or whether that last intense roll of his made it leap at her like a crouching tiger shark, but she pressed as hard as she could against him, writhing her hips for a long satisfying way, when her nerve center exploded and rippled through her like a tidal wave, making her inner muscles contract, expand, caress and stroke his cock. She cried out his name again, amidst of sobs and gasps. She floated in a dark universe, amidst stars. More, she was a shooting star herself, a comet, zipping past a vast cosmos, and reached out with her fingertips into the void, seeing colors shift like an aurora borealis, and he was still with her, inside her, propelling her further. There was more beyond this frontier. She could almost reach it.

Rogers cursed under his breath as her throbbing orgasm crumbled all restraint and his own looming peak beckoned at him. Taut muscles screamed joyfully in his brain. He knew he should retreat, retreat now, and shoot his seed outside of her, onto her belly.

“Don’t stop!” Her moan, sourced deep from within her heaving chest, escaped her lips like a strangled cry. After his unprecedented stimulation of her anterior walls, her pearl’s orgasm billowing through her deeper muscles actually brought her closer to a second one. “Oh, please. Don’t leave now!” she cried. She tightened her body even more, digging her nails into the desk.

“I have to… I should…“ Rogers gritted his teeth, sure he’d shatter his own jaw under the strain.

Dropping his head until his chin rested on his chest, he leaned on one arm. He clenched his arse, but could not move a muscle anymore. His fingers dug into the cheeks of her buttocks. Somehow, she took over, thrusting her hips at him in the same rhythm that he had marked out since the beginning. Her inner muscles clamped down on him, like a squeezing fist. All his control was about to explode, but right before that, she hung in the air and a high-pitched cry from exertion sounded from her lips, urging him to come, and come now.

“Jesus!” was the last thought and coherent sound he could make before his own release detonated. 

The explosion raced through his cock and the first barrage of his seed discharged inside her, just when her second wave washed over his cock, like a rumbling tremor surfacing from deep within her, accompanied with a surge of wetness. The energy raced through his spine, all the way up his scalp. It burst out of his crown and swerved around him like a spring rainshower, making his toes curl. He could finally back up and thrust again – long, deep and hard - gunning a second round into her, and a third and at last a fourth, while her paradise squished, massaged, and lapped at him with long, contracting throbs along his full length and girth. In rapture, he came with deep, throaty grunts. Her breath were tiny gasps and sobs. A waft of her peculiar perfume flared his nostrils. 

Rogers collapsed onto her and pressed his forehead against hers. He did not know where he was, when he was, who he was or why he was. All he knew was that she was there with him, embracing him. She lifted her legs and cradled his hips, while her hands snaked across his temples. Her knuckles brushed his scarred cheek tenderly, and then she wrapped her hands behind his neck, twirling some strands of his hair. Eleanor sighed and hugged all of him. Rogers grunted when she did that and his cock twitched in response. She chuckled. He could not help smiling and lifted himself enough to lean on his elbow and, at last, look into her eyes. They were dreamy and smiling.

He grinned and waggled his eyebrows, gesturing his chin below him where they were still joined at the hip. “Twice?” he croaked, still out of breath. She giggled and a blush flushed her cheeks. Leaning his head on his elbow, he lifted his free hand to pick some of the stray strands of blonde hair from her glowing face. “I wish I knew how I did that, so I could do it again, some day.”

“I know, and I’ll remember,” she whispered to him. She could smell herself on him and no doubt she was imprinted with his particular male aroma.

He actually laughed at that. A hearty, unconcerned, spontaneous laugh of mirth that she heard too rarely. He moved his hand from her face to her body, tracing his finger along the curve of her breast pressed against the damp shift. He leaned over, kissed the tip of her nose and sighed, relaxed. “What a woman you are.” And as an afterthought almost, but which it was not at all, he whispered, “Eleanor,” leaving the last syllable hang in the air.

It was not the first time he said her name in private company since last evening, but her heart nearly burst when he whispered it in such an intimate, happy manner, while he was still inside her. On the tip of her tongue played the words, “I love you.” But she could not say them, not yet, even if she felt them being chanted by her blood coursing through her veins. Eleanor lifted her head to kiss his lips and probed with her tongue. He grinned first, but opened his mouth to stroke her tongue with his own. They lay like that, on the desk, legs intertwined, sweaty shirt against shift, kissing and fondling one another, in their bubble of love and joy in having found one another. They were unwilling to part.

Eleanor sighed with the afterglow of lust in her eyes. Rogers blew out a breath, realizing half the morning was gone already. The desk was growing increasingly uncomfortable and hard on his elbows too. “I have to get Rackham and the cache onto the ship as soon as the cache arrives.” He disentangled himself from her, and she whimpered in disappointment. He ignored that and stood, sliding his hand through his hair. “What time is it?” He decided to strip out of his trousers. “I’m all sweaty.” He lifted the fresh shirt he put on in the early morning and smelled it. “I smell of you and sex.” Not that he minded that as much, but it would not do. He pulled his shirt off and threw it in the corner.

“I like smelling of you and sex,” she said.

Rogers chuckled and turned around to look at her. She sat on the rim of the desk, her naked legs dangling like a girl’s on a swing. “That desk must be awfully uncomfortable by now.”

Eleanor jumped off and started to pick up the stuff that lay strewn on the floor. They really had made a mess of his personal office. She smirked at the cause of it, recollecting how strange and wild it had all began. Then she blinked and stood upright. _He was angry when he entered_ , she thought. “I gather that Flint refused?”

“Yes,” Rogers shouted back from his bedroom where he was freshening up. “Unfortunately.”

Eleanor walked in, picking up after him. “Did anyone show up at the beach to join him?”

“No.”

“That’s something at least.” Eleanor knotted her brow. _Why did Flint refuse? Have I been so wrong about him all that time?_  “What did he say?”

Rogers dried himself with a fresh towel. “Could you take a fresh shirt, please?” Eleanor walked to the chest in front of his bed, opened it and took out the shirt that lay on top. “He’s done with England. Blames England for Thomas’s death and Lady Hamilton’s in Charles Town.”

Eleanor froze, as she handed him his shirt. “Miranda’s dead?” And then she realized that it had been foolish to believe otherwise. If Lady Hamilton lived, she would be here on the island, in the interior. Until last night, Eleanor believed Flint to be dead and supposed that Lady Hamilton would be mourning him. She had felt too conscious about trying to visit the woman. And Nassau, Max, Anne, Jack and the cache had demanded all of her focus. But with Flint alive, there would have been no reason for Miranda to grieve in the interior, and she would have at least come and see the new regime. Eleanor sat down on the bed, in shock. “So, she has become one of his demons now.”

“Beg pardon?” He walked to his closet and took out the blue green pants with matching waistcoat and justaucorps.

“Miranda once told me that she was there when Flint’s demons were born. At the time, I didn't know her background story yet. But if she died in Charles Town, then she herself is one of those demons. So that’s why he’s been attacking colonies who’ve been hunting pirates.”

“Could you help me with this?” Rogers asked. “Bloody buttons.” Eleanor got up and started to help him with his waistcoat. “After he refused, despite my efforts to make him see reason, I warned him that the universal pardon is at its end. From now on, anybody who commits piracy is to be regarded as one of his men, and I’ll hang them if I catch them.”

She looked up surprised and into his face. _So, that is it. Just like that, the peaceful transition is over. And we are at war with Flint._ When and how, she could not say, but Flint was no man to let go easily. “Does he have a fleet? Did he say anything else? What does he want?” She noticed he was fidgeting with the stock-tie and took over.

“No fleet, just the _Walrus_.” Rogers lifted his chin to make it easier for her to tie the cravat.

 _Well, thank god for him not having a fleet._ Her mind wandered off to Teach for a moment. Teach had a fleet now, but the likelihood of Teach and Flint uniting was practically zero. Charles and Flint could barely stand each other’s existence on the island, and Teach was worse than Charles.

“He said he wants his island back,” said Rogers more muted.

“It was never his island to begin with,” Eleanor said. _What was it with these men claiming it to be theirs, cursing a king, talking about freedom, while never once thinking of the other people who lived on it far longer than they had?_

“I told him as much.”

“What can he do with just the one ship?” she shrugged her shoulders. Eleanor admired the result of his tie, before realizing he was staring at her. Startled by the intensity of his gaze, she leaned back and smiled. “What?”

“Nothing.” His eyes began to smile. “Everything will turn out well. By evenfall the cache will be on its way to Havana.” He put a finger under her chin and kissed her lips.

She smiled and took a step back. She held out the matching justaucorps for him. “I like the deep blue one, the one you wore in my cell. But Jack will envy you this one, just as well.”

After he had put on the coat, Rogers turned to look in the mirror, checking his stock tie and thinking she had done a remarkable job in dressing him. It surprised him that Eleanor had noticed the color of his suit the day he visited her in her cell, let alone that she preferred it. “Rackham and envy are words that seem to go hand in hand.” He turned around, away from the mirror, just in time to see her peel off her chemise and walk to the basin of water. He coughed, because the sight of her nubile, naked body was still startling to him. “More men have called in sick today. Could you visit it and give me a report by the evening?”

“Sure.” She had pinned her blonde hair up at the back of her head while washing.

Rogers shook his head out of the daze, left the bedroom, closed the door behind him and picked up the book he had started to read the evening before from the floor. Travel overland was slow and would take hours. And one could hardly expect Rackham to oblige him into making interesting conversation. With the book under his arm, he walked out of his office to the corridor. Though he remembered having passed them, earlier on, Rogers had quite forgotten about the two regulars positioned outside his door during the day. Rogers and Eleanor had been loud enough to give these two men an earful, if not the whole west wing, including downstairs. That desk had at least moved a foot out of place. “Any news of the exchange yet?”

“Yes, sir. All went well. The caravan returned half an hour ago. Do you wish for me to send for Major Andrews?” the young man inquired. Rogers deliberated whether he preferred to meet the major in the assembly hall, for Eleanor’s sake, or in his office. But before he could answer, the man also said, “And earlier Commodore Chamberlain wished to see you with regards the route and the location for the ship to lie at anchor.”

Rogers pointed at the floor of the corridor. “The commodore was here?”

“Yes, my lord.” With a straight face, the young man said, “He understood you were busy and not to be disturbed and relayed his message to us.”

Rogers had a sudden coughing fit and he squinted at the lieutenant, trying to determine whether the young man was having him on. He thought he saw a little glint appear in those eyes. “And?”

“All is in good order, my lord. Everything is ready. And the route was scouted and cleared.”

“Good.”

“ _Twice_ , sir.”

Rogers looked sharply at the lieutenant, and he could see a tug at the corner of the lieutenant’s mouth. _I should have the lout’s leave taken from him for a week for his insolence_. But there had sounded admiration in the way he said it. He had to admit he felt rather smug about that feat, himself. So, he ignored the jab. “I will see Major Andrews in the assembly hall,” and started to walk off, but then halted. “You're dismissed. No need to hang around my door all day when I am not here.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "My true love knows no shame" (Flint's arc): Flint and Rogers are made out to be each other's twin characters, but at opposing sides. Hence, Flint's characteristics apply to Rogers, including his dark side - domineering, possessive and ruthless. Sarah turned away from it and rejected him. Eleanor is inherently attracted and habituated to it because of her past and origin. Eleanor is a younger Miranda to Rogers - shameless, doesn't flinch at violence or ruthlesness. 
> 
> Shame: The erotic plot tells Rogers' arc from a man using shame to prevent physical involvement to a man who doesn't care that his direct staff know that Eleanor is his mistress. Fornication and adultery was a crime in the colonies and England, punishable by public lashings. Rogers not hiding the affair in 3x09 while it has legal repercussions (especially if it can result in children that have no legal standing whatsoever) is utterly shameless. We can get how he ends up falling in love and is unable to resist the affair, but not even attempting to hide it, literally onvernight, is extraordinary. The 'desk' is the symbol around which this shedding of shame revolves: first kiss, fantasies, stripping, jealousy over Vane's hold on her yet transformin it, but after the parlay, in broad daylight, on the desk, completely shameless, 100% lust, but not animalistic. He commands her to be a lust object, and dominance is the motivator (not jealousy). He sheds the shame of social consequences when he risks fathering a bastard. Eleanor has an orgasm, shortly before him, to make it Rogers' choice whether he performs coïtus interruptus or not. He could withdraw, being already assured that she climaxed already. But he's given the opportunity to have them climax together, if he does not withdraw.
> 
> Eleanor=Island: harks back to Vane's opium trip in S1. Vane tries to win Eleanor by taking the island (fort) without her knowing it. Rogers does the opposite. He takes the island without wanting to win Eleanor but involves her in helping him. Rogers succeeds, through Eleanor, and as a result he wins Eleanor - first her mind, then her heart and finally her body. 
> 
> Cupid & Psyche: the act is done in broad daylight, on a working place, but it is in an emotionally dark place, where their souls meet in love through an act of utter lust.


	22. Beyond the Horizon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rogers leaves Fort Nassau together with Rackham and reveals what measures of security he took about the route. Max convinces Eleanor that Anne and Flint must be working together to intercept the cache and Rackham, and Eleanor seeks men who are willing to listen to her.

The repair of the fort had succeeded with great progress. The damage caused by the explosion was almost invisible, except for the newer stone and mortar. The courtyard was full of regular and several loaded the carriage with ammunition. Rogers had spared no risk to security. Rackham and the cache would be transported under heavy guard. Inside the carriage, on the floor, rested the heavy chest, similar to Max’s that was already underway to Havana. Rogers sat on one knee, hauled a padlock out of his pocket and secured the chest.

“Have Rackham brought from his cell, in chains,” he ordered Major Rollins. He lifted the tail of his justaucorps and sat down on the bench, facing the front of the carriage. It was not as fancy as the one he had owned in London – older, worn and with black leather padding - but it would do the job.

A week ago he could have strangled Rackham with his bare hands. But now, he wished he could let Rackham go free. Rogers felt no guilt whatsoever about doing what needed to be done, not in the heat of battle, not to save what was his or his allies, but he rarely felt a personal animosity, let alone a grudge that lasted. Perhaps that was the reason he had chosen to see the cache and Rackham off personally. In some ways, he respected the man for trying and the least he owed Captain Rackham was accompanying him to the ship.

Tall and lanky Rackham appeared before the open doorway and stared up at Rogers. He looked haggard and almost pitiful. Rackham threw his dusty tricorn inside the carriage onto the bench opposite of Rogers, climbed inside and sat down. Jack stared at the chest next to his boot and then at Rogers, his jaw flexing in irritation. “Anne exchanged the cache for my release?”

“Yes.”

Major Rollins chained Rackham to a ring that had been mounted onto the bottom of the carriage as Rogers had requested and used another padlock to lock it. “This does not seem like a release,” said Rackham, frowning.

“Spain has demanded I deliver you along with the cache,” Rogers said soft voiced. “I’m told that once you and the cache arrive at Havana, my debt to Spain will be repaid.” Rogers had difficulty meeting the man’s eyes. “I did not appreciate having terms altered after the fact in this way, but in this moment I’m simply in no position to refuse them.”

“I see,” Rackham croaked, anger blazing from his dark eyes.

Finally, Rogers met Rackham’s judgmental stare squarely. “Perhaps you were right, that in a place like this there is no progress without awful sacrifice.” He turned his head to the open windows and shouted, “Make ready to depart!”

“Yes, sir!” the driver hollered back.

“If it's any consolation, no harm was done to your partner,” Rogers said more softly. “She left the transaction unscathed.”

Major Rollins leaned into the carriage. “Ready, my lord.”

“Let's go.”

As the major stepped out and closed the door, the miserable looking Rackham asked, “So she's alive? Anne?”

“She is. You have my word.” At least this promise was true, though he could understand Rackham’s skepticism.

“Prepare to mount up!” Major Rollins orders his men, while Rogers stuck his hand out of the carriage and patted to signal to get the caravan going.

xxx

Downstairs in the assembly room, Major Andrews relayed Eleanor the news about the successful non-exchange of the cache. Though she was supposed to visit the sick bay, she decided to reassure Max first. Max feared that even if Rogers’ men showed restraint, Anne would become so violent his men’s only recourse would be to kill her. Eleanor hastened to the tavern. “Can you tell Max I’m here to see her?” she asked Featherstone.

Featherstone looked spooked. “Ahm,” he opened his mouth and then closed it again, fiddling with his cravat. “She’s still in her room across the street. Haven’t seen her yet all morning.” He turned around and hastily disappeared out of sight.

Eleanor furrowed her brow at his strange behavior, but then again, she had once ordered men to have him killed. If she were to meet the person face to face who sent an assassin after her, she might not know how to behave either. Then she chuckled at herself. _What am I thinking? I sleep with the man who threatened to put me on a ship to the gallows._ She shook her head, left the tavern, crossed the street and entered the brothel.

Several women sat around lazily, having a late breakfast, after a long night of work. Mrs. Mapleton sauntered across the patio with a smile. “Miss Guthrie, how may I be of help to you?”

“Max hired you again?” said Eleanor, not hiding the incredulity in her voice.

Mrs. Mapleton folded her hands delicately together, her eyes gleaming with amusement. “I have my uses, as you know yourself.”

There was something about that woman that made her skin crawl, keeping percentages of the girls for herself and yet never standing up for them if a customer beat them bloody. Max never allowed her girls to be abused so. And yet, Anne had murdered Charlotte for the Urca gold and Max had covered it up. Mrs. Mapleton told her that, which led to Eleanor ordering the assassination on Rackham and his crew. For a moment, she wondered whether Mrs. Mapleton had been two-timing her. _Was it Mrs. Mapleton who betrayed my location to Captain Hornigold?_

“Did any of the men appear on the beach to be recruited by Flint?” Mrs. Mapleton asked.

“No,” said Eleanor.

Mrs. Mapleton smiled and lifted her hand. “Well, then I can tell the girls they did a fine job.”

“They did. Is Max here?”

“She’s upstairs in her room, sleeping in. I shall tell her you’ve come to see her.” She turned, flicked her fingers at one of the girls hanging near the bar. “Get Miss Guthrie some refreshment, for her trouble.” Eleanor watched Mrs. Mapleton amble up the stairs and took her time in coming down again. “Max will see you now.”

When Eleanor almost reached the top of the stairs, the blonde whore that had talked foolishness to her nine days ago emerged from Max’s room and flew down the stairs. _Is that Max’s bedwarmer now? Surely, she can do better than that simpleminded one._

Max was still in a morning gown of golden threaded silk, pacing her room. “What happened?” Max rounded her table, turned her back on Eleanor and poured herself a glass of water.

“The cache is in our possession,” Eleanor said, smiling. “It's on its way as we speak to the transport and then to Havana.”

“With Jack.”

“Yes. The governor is seeing to it personally that the transport sets sail with its cargo. Within a matter of hours, the Spanish issue will be closed and we will be free to move forward.”

“And Anne?” Max asked with a trembling voice.

“The men said she was angered.” Eleanor took a step closer to Max and softly said, “When she realized that Jack wasn't there, she let the cache go. Anne was unharmed.”

Max turned around and looked at her with astonishment. “Unharmed?”

“Yes. I advised the governor to send eight men to the exchange to deter any attempt on her part to fight –“

“When did she realize?” Frowning, Max put down the glass of water.

“I'm sorry?”

“That Jack was not there. When did Anne realize that she had been lied to?” Max demanded. “Was it before or after they secured the cache?”

Eleanor tried to remember Major Andrew’s precise words. “Before, I think. Why?”

With a knotted brow, Max came closer. “When you told me this was to be, I was upset by the thought of having lied to Anne. I was devastated by the certainty it would unavoidably lead to her death. For the moment she realized that Jack was not there, that she had been crossed and that she would likely never see him again, she would attempt to kill anyone she deemed responsible. Eight?” Max said, incredulous. “You could have sent a thousand men. It would not have deterred her. And now you’re saying to me that she knew she had been crossed and chose to walk away to save herself?”

 _Eight_ , Eleanor thought with alarm. _Bonny and Rackham killed eight of Vane’s crew to free Max._ Eleanor had been so focused on preserving Anne’s life for Max that she had never thought on it from Anne’s perspective. She was suddenly alarmed. “You’re right. Anne would have died fighting.”

“Unless,” said Max, her face only inches away from Eleanor’s. “Anne already knew she would be duped.”

Furrowing her brow, Eleanor shook her head and stared at the floor in thought. “But then she would not have shown up even. She never would have surrender the cache. Set up some trap to kill Woodes’ men instead. It makes no sense!”

Startled, Max took a step back from Eleanor. _She slept with him._ Eleanor’s slip of the tongue told her enough. She was still close enough to Eleanor to scent it. Behind the perfume of rose-water and soap there was a distinct feminine aroma that Max remembered as Eleanor’s when Max had made her come, and something else, just a tiny hint of it – a manly odor. _After I warned her against it! What is she doing with him?_

Realizing she been momentarily distracted over this revelation, Max asked, “What were you saying?”

“If Anne Bonny knew that Jack Rackham was not going to be released, then why did she even show up for the exchange?”

Setting aside her thoughts of Eleanor and the governor, Max pondered the same issue. “Because she has a plan?”

“What plan?” Eleanor puckered her brow. “To give us the cache and not rescue Jack?”

Max lifted her eyebrows and nudged her head. “To give us the cache _and_ rescue Jack. She has help, Eleanor. Men slipped into Nassau last night, into my tavern, murdered Mr. Dufresne, walked off with the ledger, and slipped out again. Flint has been sailing near or around the island since yesterday at least. How many of his men are here, in Nassau or the interior?”

“Oh, fuck!” Eleanor widened her eyes. “They intend to attack the caravan. We have to warn the commodore.” Eleanor whirled around, flung the door open and raced onto the landing for the stairs.

“Wait!” cried Max. “I’ll come with you. But I have to dress.”

“I’ll wait for you downstairs!” yelled Eleanor from the stairs.

Max rushed to her wardrobe and picked through the many dresses she had, while her thoughts streamed on the other revelation. _Fool,_ she told herself _. She’s in love with him. You thought to warn her against it, but you probably only pushed her into acting on her feelings_. For a moment, she had to catch her breath and leaned with closed eyes against the wardrobe, as she suddenly had a vision of the pair of them making love to each other. _Fuck! Get a grip of yourself. Mrs. Mapleton told you last night why Eleanor even picked you for her lover –she would owe you no more than a fee. You weren’t Eleanor’s lover. You were her whore. Like Georgia’s yours._ She was surprised how much it could hurt her still, even after Anne. _Even after her father’s death and Vane was her enemy, I thought I could win her back, remind her how I knew her. But I only thought I knew her._

She hated Mrs. Mapleton for telling her – take a whore to your bed and you may survive the experience of power. _It did nearly kill Eleanor, if not for the governor_. And not because Eleanor was so cruel and selfish, but because she did care. _Because she cared, I cared, and Vane cared, both hoping to win her love. Just not in the way we wanted her to care, and we both wanted to see her destroyed for it._

Max had taken Mrs. Mapleton’s advice. She took Georgia, who looked so much like Eleanor, to her bed. Of course she knew why Mrs. Mapleton had picked out the blonde girl. Eleanor was her weakness _. It is my half-sister who is my true weakness – my father’s other daughter, who got to play, sing and dance in the big house, while I was but his slave._ But Max was not as naïve as Eleanor. When Georgia made her come and come and come last night, Max had indulged in the fantasy of Eleanor fucking her. But when Georgia talked or Max opened her eyes, the fantasy was ruined.  

It was a good thing that Teach had shown up to take Vane far away from Eleanor. _Oh yes, he used to say Eleanor was dead and that he hated her for betraying him. But he was sullen most of the time, if he had nothing to do._ And he had shown a surprising unprecedented commitment to Nassau. A part of Max had always wondered whether this was because he somehow believed he was fulfilling Eleanor’s legacy in some twisted way - defend Nassau, build Nassau. Vane spent more time on the island than out on the sea hunting. For a pirate declaring himself so committed to piracy and its freedom, he had behaved very little like a pirate. _He did it all for Eleanor, not for the pirate life, but he was too scared to have her know it._ _And if that is true_ , Max realized, _then he can’t stay away from this place forever, knowing she is here, alive_. _The fool might even think she might forgive him if he rescues her from the governor._ Charles would kill the pair of them if he were to see Eleanor’s adoration for Rogers. Max dreaded the day that Vane would sneak onto the island again. At least one of those three would end up dead – Rogers, Eleanor or Charles.

xxx

Driving along the scenic route, Rogers looked out of the window of the carriage, onto the azure ocean. _Just a little island, a sliver in the sprawling ocean, far away from the rest of civilization._ He was charmed by this particular speck in the ocean though. Nassau had its own personality – dirty, grubby, but busy, English enough, and with a backbone. He could see why Eleanor loved it so, and he could grow to love it. This island was transforming him. Eleanor was transforming him, to his more natural, true self. And he started to embrace it.

The blue of the ocean, reminded him of Eleanor’s eyes. He knew her for only two and a half months, and in all that time she had done everything he wished of her, without complaint, without going behind his back. If she argued a point it was in support of him. And yet, because of his marriage that was no marriage, he was supposed to think their relationship was a sin, fornication. He just could not anymore. Just as he could learn from Eleanor, he began to feel that civilization could learn something from Nassau too.

Slowly it started to sink in how he started to shed his English cultured shame. Last night and this morning was how it ought to be between a man and woman – liberated to enjoy each other completely, without shame, without reserve in the privacy of their own rooms. No wonder that society and the church shamed women thus. _What would society be like if every man could feel this empowered by his wife?_ Every man would consider himself king.

He remembered the words spoken by the priest during his own marriage ceremony to Sarah as if it were yesterday. “…and therefore is not by any to be entered, nor taken in hand, unadvisedly, lightly, or wantonly, to satisfy men's carnal lusts and appetites, like brute beasts that have no understanding; but reverently, discreetly, advisedly, soberly, and in the fear of God…”

 _There_ , he thought. _It’s not just women, but men who are made to feel ashamed of their lust, making them out to be beasts_. For the life of him, Rogers could not conceive himself as a beast at all now. He had been loving, reverent and even that morning a successful lover. Sarah used to call him a beast or remind him that, “The minister said it was ordained for the procreation of children.” That minister had also said, “It was ordained for the mutual society, help, and comfort, that the one ought to have of the other, both in prosperity and adversity.” And well his marriage failed completely in that regard.

 _But how much will Eleanor support me still if she ever learns of the many strings I pulled for close to two years?_ As intelligent as she was, it puzzled Rogers she had not figured it out herself. But maybe it was the island that prevented her from seeing the big picture. The outlook across the sea gave rise to this feeling of vastness, of the whole world being at your beck and call, and yet one could never see beyond the horizon, a seeming empty ocean.

“Do you speak Spanish?” asked Rackham, calling Rogers out of his reverie.

Rogers had heard the pirate speak, but had not actually registered the question. He looked at Rackham. “Beg pardon?”

“¿Habla español?”

“A little. You?”

“Hardly at all,” said Rackham, staring into the distance out of the other window, into the land covered with bushes. “If I'm in Havana in a day or two, I assume I'll be hearing a lot of it shouted by bitter old women in a crowd, growled by angry officials.”

Rogers smiled to himself and looked down at his hands. They were clean, his hands. And yet, while Eleanor had painted him as her deliverer to bring life, here he would be the deliverer of Rackham to his noose. _Had you done as I asked from the beginning I would have released you, before Spain even knew I had you in my custody_. _You played your game, and it will cost you your life and your partner’s happiness_. _You care about your life, but you never cared of the fate of the people in Nassau ._

“It seems a rotten thing to wish upon anyone, an unflattering eulogy in an unfamiliar tongue.”

“It'll be quick, to whatever extent it sets your mind at ease. The gold is theirs. The gems are theirs. They don't need anything from you anymore, and as such they're likely to want to put the entire affair behind them and move on.” Then suddenly Rogers was struck by the particular way Rackham had expressed himself. He studied the forlorn looking Rackham. “I'm sorry. ‘If’?”

“Beg pardon?”

“You said, ‘If I'm in Havana.’ In your mind this outcome is still in doubt?”

“Well, the odds are certainly in its favor,” Rackham admitted while staring at the scenery. Then he met Rogers’ gaze.“But it is by no means a certainty.”

“How so exactly?” Rogers said softly.

“You said Anne is alive, did you not? I would argue as long as that is true, there's a chance, however remote, that she will frustrate your efforts to send me off to my death.”

Incredulously, Rogers raised his eyebrows. “Out of curiosity, how would she go about doing that?”

“Well, I have no idea,” sighed Rackham. “Everything and anything in her power, I imagine, up to and including walking out in the middle of the road ahead of us to be run over by your horses in the hope of slowing you down for even a moment.”

This made Rogers smile. It was a fitting description of what he expected the likes of Rackham to try. But he was no backwater fool. He sighed and rolled his eyes. “It is fascinating to me how stubbornly you people expect the unlikeliest of outcomes because you prefer them.” Rackham squinted at Rogers, listening with concentrated attention. “You expect the world to become what you want it to be, despite all available evidence and experience to the contrary.” His tone became more apologetic. “This was not the way I'd hoped this affair would play out. But I can assure you it is most certainly not going to play out the way you hope it will either, because even to stand in the road ahead of us, she would have to know which road to stand in.”

Rackham glared at him. “You held the route secret.”

“I held a _number_ of potential routes secret, before settling upon this one so that even if the secrets were compromised, anyone intending to hit us would be more than likely in possession of the _wrong_ route.”

For the first time, Rackham stared out at the sea, his jaw flexing in defeat and taking in a deep breath.

xxx

Eleanor hastened towards the mansion, where a squadron of regulars in formation changed the watch of their other colleagues. Impatiently, she tried to see where she might find the commodore and get past the whole squadron without interrupting the ceremony. Max raced after her, trying to keep up. Eleanor saw Chamberlain striding out of the mansion and she waved to get his attention. He looked down his nose from afar at her and turned his head away. “Oh, that oaf,” she muttered in frustration. “He knows I would never even speak to him if it wasn’t absolutely necessary.”

“Why don’t you try and talk to any of the majors?”

Eleanor rolled her eyes. “The majors are good men, but not that smart,” she whispered. “And ultimately, Chamberlain is the military commander after the governor. Besides, a ship might get faster to the destination.” Then Lieutenant Perkins just walked by. She grabbed him by the cuffs. “Lieutenant, would you do me a favor, and ask the commodore to come here and talk to me. We have a matter of security and high alert to discuss with him.” Perkins raised his eyebrows and looked at her hand holding the cuff of his sleeve. Eleanor let go. “He’s ignoring me. But you know I wouldn’t ask anything of him, or you, unless I felt the governor to be in any danger.”

Perkins flicked his eyes sideways, in the direction of Chamberlain, then at her. She pouted her lips at him in a challenge. His eyes softened somewhat, and he inclined his head. “Yes, m’am.”

The young man walked around the squadron, up the steps and spoke to Chamberlain, who turned his head sharply towards Eleanor. Perkins became more insistent. Chamberlain waved at the lieutenant in a yes-yes motion, put on a smile and strolled at leisure towards Eleanor.

Eleanor sighed in relief. “Thank you, commodore.”

Hands behind his back, he stopped in front of her. “How may I be of service?”

“We fear there’s something terribly wrong with the caravan’s safety,” she started. Chamberlain rolled his eyes. “Anne Bonny’s reaction doesn’t make much sense. She gave up the cache, despite knowing already that Jack wasn’t there and she hardly put up a fight against the eight regulars.” Eleanor ignored the man’s smug smile. “That is just not like Anne. She would not have surrendered the cache without a fight, once she knew Jack would not be released, unless she knew of it beforehand and has a plan to rescue Jack and steal the cache of gems.”

Chamberlain sighed. “Let me be sure I have this right.” He leaned towards Eleanor and repeated in a condescending tone as if he were speaking to a child, “So the plan to recover the stolen cache of gems - _your_ plan to recover the stolen cache of gems - has worked in exactly the manner you suggested it would. Only now you believe this is a bad thing - evidence of a plan to rescue Mr. Rackham and once again recover the cache of gems. That is what you're suggesting, yes?”

“I can understand why this may be hard to believe, but I know Anne Bonny well enough to know that it is a certainty something here is amiss,” insisted Max.

“That her behavior should coincide with the presence of Captain Flint on the island only hours before most certainly points to a plot being underway,” said Eleanor.

Chamberlain chuckled. “I beg your pardon. So now Captain Flint is somehow involved in this plot despite the fact that his ship left the island hours ago? And I am to redeploy men into the interior away from Nassau Town, leaving their positions undefended?”

 _The man is insufferable._ Here she thought that at least he would share her concern for Woodes, that at least they had a common concern. She put her hands on her side. “I'm sorry, are you suggesting there's some ulterior motive here?”

“I'm suggesting that simply because the governor decided to put his…” Chamberlain swallowed before saying the next. “… _trust_ in you, I have no intention of doing the same.” Eleanor was appalled. “The situation is well in hand. Thank you for your concern.” Chamberlain turned and started to walk away.

“Well in hand?” She raised her voice. “I'm telling you the situation is potentially about to get entirely out of hand. You're not fucking hearing me!” She had spoken loud enough for Captain Polliver of the regulars to turn his head at her direction.

Chamberlain stopped, turned and took a few steps back in her direction. “Even if somebody wanted to move against the governor's caravan, they wouldn't know where to find the governor's caravan!” He spoke rapidly, incessantly and increasingly louder. “The route was altered multiple times. False schedules were distributed. Nobody knows exactly when they were set to leave. Nobody knows what route they finally decided upon. Nobody knows who –“

“I know,” said Max, startling Chamberlain. Eleanor smiled at her. “I know the route. A boy in my employ saw scouts on the west trail road late last night. That is it, is it not?” The commodore blinked a few times, raising his chin. “I’m assuming you did not send men to scout the decoy routes?

Chamberlain shook with annoyance and anger. “Did you tell anyone what your boy has told you?”

“No.”

“And would your boy sell his information without your knowledge?”

“No.”

“Good. Then we have nothing to _fucking_ worry about. Ladies.”

Eleanor let him go without any further protestation. There was no use in making him listen. Her mind worked on an alternative. _Who else can I reach out to?_ She stepped towards the rotund Captain Polliver. “Captain, I need two regulars to come with me now, as an escort.” The Captain looked at Chamberlain then at her. But this was not something that Chamberlain could refuse her. “I’m the governor’s senior advisor and I need an escort, on official governing business, now.”

Captain Polliver nodded and pointed, “You and… you,” he pointed to a long fellow with dark hair and a shorter one. “Please escort Miss Guthrie.”

“Where are we going?” Max asked.

“The tavern.”

Max widened her eyes. “My tavern? You don’t need an escort for that.”

“I do, if I wish Hornigold to acknowledge I am there as the governor’s liaison.” She leaned in to whisper, “And to annoy that stupid Chamberlain, because he can’t deny me an escort.” When Max gave her a blank look, she said, “Hornigold commands the militia and he’s eager to prove himself to the governor. He’s usually at the tavern at this time of the day, isn’t he?”

“Yes.”

Once there, Eleanor knew exactly where she could find him: his favorite spot on the lofty inner balcony to read his paper.

“Do you want me to come with you?” asked Max.

Eleanor pressed her lips together, looking up at the balcony. She shook her head. “No, Max. It is time that Hornigold and I make our peace. I put away my pride a month ago, now it is time he does the same.”

“If you say so,” Max said somewhat doubtful.

Eleanor chuckled. “We made our peace, didn’t we?”

“Yes.”

“Then trust me,” Eleanor said.

Hornigold held his paper high, ignoring her as she stood in front of him. “Fuck your pride,” she told him, as she walked to his table and leaned over his paper. She knew it would insult and ire the captain, and yet he would never trust her if she was anything but insolent to him. “If I can swallow mine to be standing here, you'll do the same to listen.” Hornigold put the paper down and eyed her sternly, sniffing his nose. “Because if you and I can't figure out a way to work together in this moment, everything may be lost.”

Hornigold glared at her. But when he finally nodded and sasid, “Please sit and tell me what this is all about,” that was at least a partial victory. Eleanor moved the chair opposite of him, sat down and explained the whole problem. “A secret caravan to move Rackham to a secret transport, and no one knows about this but you,” Hornigold observed.

“Me, the governor, his cabinet, eight dragoons, their quartermaster, the carriage driver plenty of people know about it, just not _you_.”

Hornigold grinned and nodded. “And you believe there's a plot underway to attack this _secret_ caravan, a plot that somehow involves Captain Flint, whom everyone saw sail into open water hours ago.”

For a moment Eleanor dropped her head. _Why were men so stubborn and reluctant to listen to her?_ “Jesus! Chamberlain can ignore this. He doesn't know me, he doesn't know Bonny, he doesn't know Flint. Now, if it turns out that I'm right about this, he'll look like a fool, but at least his ignorance of the players involved will be some defense. If you choose to ignore me, it will be far harder for you to find an excuse.”

Hornigold chuckled. “I watched it depart, the _Walrus_. Had a man with a glass watching her set sail, watching her clear the horizon and disappear –“

Fed up, Eleanor put her hands on the table and pushed herself up. “Do you know what? I don't have time for this.” She turned away.

“Except for the glints of light!”

Eleanor widened her eyes, froze mid-step and whirled around. “What?”

“I had my man keep his glass to the spot on the horizon where the _Walrus_ disappeared. And roughly every fifteen minutes, he reported seeing glints of light from her last position.” He spoke loud enough for her escort to overhear it.

“What the fuck does that mean?” she whispered stepping towards Hornigold.

“Oh, it could mean nothing.” Hornigold shrugged his shoulders. “Random artifact of sunlight off the water. Or it could be the reflection of a spyglass upon one of her masts the ship beneath bare poles, waiting silently, invisibly, for a signal to return.”

 _Shit, shit, shit,_ she cursed silently _. Max is right. I’m right. Flint and Anne have a plan. And this really, really might go very wrong._

“I beat him,” said Hornigold through gritted teeth. “And then I watched him return from the dead to negate my victory, to watch his partner murder mine and aggravate the affront. You and I have our history, but Flint and I have unfinished business of a far more serious sort.”

Eleanor looked at the older man sitting down, and smiled. “You’ll send the militia after the governor’s caravan?”

“Yes, and I will sail for the _Walrus_ too.” He rose and looked at her. “Because if we’re too late in preventing the cache and Rackham from being taken again, then at least I may be on time to intercept them on sea.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beyond the Horizon: Flint's ship sits physically beneath bear poles, while Rogers comments on a mental perception when Rackham believes he'll be rescued. Everybody is blind to what lies beyond the horizon, which is why Eleanor's view of England's coming the previous two seasons was so limited. It's difficult to see the big picture, if all you know is a tiny sliver in the ocean. Eleanor's world view has physically widened. Anyone who stays on the island for a long time is susceptible to this line of limited thinking. Where Max wanted to make a life in Port Royal in Jamaica in S1, she cannot conceive that idea at all anymore. 
> 
> Eleanor and Madi: Madi does not appear in this fanfic, but episode 3x08 contrasts them. While Madi tells Silver that her men will do as she says, without question, Eleanor struggles to make the men listen to her. The irony is that in later episodes Billy frames Eleanor as the tirant, and yet he does this for a pirate captain who is tirannical and told him in S1 he wants to be King of the Island as well as a Maroon Queen and Madi whose very word is law and who tortured and killed pirates without any trial at all.


	23. The Peerless Fighter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rackham wants Rogers to read some of his book and then reveals his life's story. The caravan comes under attack, with Rogers barely surviving it. While he loses the cache and Rackham, he captures Charles Vane instead. (Pure Rogers POV)

Rackham had fallen into a sullen silence, and Rogers was not the man to intrude on a man’s thoughts while he was on his way to his death sentence. For this reason Rogers had brought the book along. He opened it and started to read where he last left off. Rackham’s eyes moved from the view of the sea to the book. “What are you reading?”

“Marmion’s _Cupid & Psyche_.”

Rackham lifted his eyebrows in consternation. “I would not have thought you for a reading man.”

Rogers smiled and settled his gaze on Rackham. “You supposed I was only a writing man?”

“Well, no,” said Rackham. “I mean, it’s a love story, right?”

“Yes, a sinful and dark one at that. Sham marriage, illegitimate child, lustful nights in the dark, betrayal, shunning, a journey into the underworld, and yet true love between two souls. Quite scandalous really.”

Rackham grimaced. “That actually sounds quite good. Perhaps I could borrow it? Then I’d have something to read on the ship to Havana.”

Rogers chuckled. “It was given to me by a friend, so I loathe to part with it. Perhaps I shall send a copy of it after you.”

Jack rolled his eyes. “Well at least read me some of it then. You know as a last request.”

 Sighing, Rogers leafed a few pages back. “Here Psyche has wounded her Cupid and he punishes her for her betrayal.” And in his most melodic, softest voice, he read,

“Was it for this I did thy plagues remove,

To pain myself? Strike mine own heart in love,

With mine own shaft, that after all this gear,

I should no better than a beast appear?

For this, wouldst thou cut off my head, which bore

Those eyes, that did thy beauty so adore?

And yet thou knowest, thou ungrateful wretch, how I

Did with my fears, thy mischiefs still imply,

And every day my cautions did renew,

The breath of which thou must for ever rue:

And each of these thy sisters, that were guide

To thy ill act, shall dearly it abide.

Yes I will punish thee no other way

But only this, I will forever stray

Far from thy sight;”

Rackham stretched his neck and positively glowered at Rogers by the end of the quote. “Hehe, funny,” he said sarcastically. “Could I have less of a farewell over betrayal, but more of that soul love, instead?”

“Very well,” said Rogers and leafed through another few pages. “How about a soul kiss?”

“Yes, a soul’s kiss. That would set me up perfectly.” Rackham closed his eyes and sat back in the seat of the carriage, shackled hands folded together.

“Yet was she not so cruel in her haste,

But ere she killed him, she his lips would taste,

Wishing she need not rise out from her bed,

But that she had the power to kiss him dead:

Now with her lips she labors all she may,

To suck his soul out, whilst he sleeping lay,

Till she at last through a transfused kiss,

Left her own soul, and was inspired by his:

And had her soul within his body stayed,

Till he herein his virtues had conveyed,

And all pollution would from thence remove,

Then, after all, her thoughts had been of love;

But since she could not both of them retain,

She restored his, and took her own again:

Sorry, that she was forced it to transfer;

And wished, though dead, that he might live in her.”

A smile played on Rackham’s lips. “Much better.”

“Now, can I read for myself?” asked Rogers.

“By all means.”

Rogers returned to the last he had read for himself. Abandoned Psyche tried to drown herself, but was saved by Pan who told her she showed all the signs of a woman in love, not to despair for she might win Cupid’s love again. She met her treacherous sisters next and revealed all, including how Cupid had threatened to take one of her sisters to bed instead. One sister plunged to her death hoping Cupid would take her for his bride, but Thetis transformed her into a sea-gull, an evil bird who betrayed Psyche in Venus’s ear.

He had just finished the first book and turned a page, when Rackham said, “My father was a tailor in Leeds.” Rogers looked up from his book. “As was his father and his father's father. Time was if a man on the Avondale Road asked where he might find the finest clothes in northern England, he was pointed toward the shop of a man named Rackham.” Rogers closed the book, leaving his finger on the last page he read. “Then the men who sell wool decide they'd prefer not to compete with the men who imported fine cotton. And as the men who sell wool have the ears of the men who make laws, an embargo is enacted to increase profits and calico disappears.” In some ways, Rackham’s calico story reminded him of the monopoly of the East Indy Company. “And my father's business that he inherited from his father and his father's father begins to wither and die. And my father suffers the compound shame of financial failure seen through the eyes of his son and descended into drink. I'd sit beside him as a boy at the Sunday service as he shouted at the pastor, at the altar at anyone who'd listen, really at the injustice of it all. And I'd put my arm over his shoulder as the insults began, help carry him out of the church.

“God, the insults. At his funeral, our neighbors were kind enough to whisper them rather than call them out loud. So, I set to work, determined to rebuild what had been taken away. I was thirteen years old. but I was determined until a man arrived at my door claiming to hold debts belonging to my father. Debts accumulated as my father drank. Debts he claimed that now belonged to me. Debts I could not possibly have hoped to repay. Debts over which this man would have seen me imprisoned -imprisoned in a place where the debts would have been discharged only through hard labor. Hard labor with no wages, working at - wait for it - the production of textiles. "

Rogers looked away, but the irony of it did amuse him. The world was full of it, in everybody’s lives it seemed. Where Rackham had tried to rebuild the family's tailor business, Rogers sought to rebuild half the lost shipping business. While Rackham's father had accumulated the debt, it had been Rogers' wife. And where Rackham was pushed to labor in the production of textiles, Rogers sailed and led expeditions and ventures for his investors. Both had been born in merchant's independence, but life made them bound to others. Except, Rackham had chosen freedom and turned to piracy, whereas Rogers had sought the highest position he could achieve while serving another, as governor to the Crown.

But then Rackham spit his venom. “’You people, incapable of accepting the world as it is,’ says the man to whom the world handed everything.” Rackham glared at him. “If no Anne, if no rescue, if this is defeat for me, then know this. You and I were neck and neck in this race right till the end. But, Jesus, did I make up a lot of ground to catch you.”

“You think the world's been that kind to me? That I'm that much softer than you? That much more fortunate?”

“Wealthy family, inherited Daddy's shipping business, married rich. I read your book –“

“But there are things you leave out of the book. Things you leave out because if it got around polite society what you're capable of when pushed, they might stop inviting you to their dinner parties.” Rogers squinted at Rackham and lowered his voice. “All you know about me is what I want you to know.”

Rackham grimaced and rolled his dark eyes away, when Major Rollins shouted, “Riders! Riders approaching!”

“Defend the governor!”

Rackham turned around to look through the rear window and then grinned triumphantly at Rogers who had stood to see with his own eyes what was the matter. Rogers looked daggers at Rackham, opened the side door and growled to the men riding beside the carriage, “Captain, fall back and engage! Defend the left flank!”

At that moment Rackham grabbed him from behind and dragged him back into the carriage. Rogers jabbed his elbow into Rackham when Rackham’s chains were choking him. Fraught for air and reddening, he flung his elbow in Rackham’s side a couple of times with little result. For a moment he stopped fighting Rackham and the pirate loosened his hold just enough for Rogers to smash his elbow into Rackham’s face. Quickly, Rogers turned around and before Rackham could come back to his senses, Rogers pummeled Jack until he knocked him out.   

“They're gaining, sir!” yelled one of his men, and as Rogers looked up and out of the rear window he saw seven black clad riders, their faces covered. His own men seated on the back of the carriage loaded their muskets. Only three regulars defended the rear still.

“Defend the governor!”

Rogers climbed out of the carriage, clinging to the side. “Faster! Don't spare the horses!” he roared. “Pistol!” he demanded from the guard on his roof. Shots were fired at their pursuers. “Hold your fire,” he said to the young man at the back of the carriage beside him. “Wait till they're close.”

“Sir!”

Rogers aimed, together with the lad beside him.

“Pick your targets!” shouted the major, just as two of the three regulars defending the rear were shot, as well as one of the black clad riders.

 _Too many! There are too many still!_ Just then the young man beside him screamed. The boy fell dead from the carriage onto the ground. Rogers shot a rider left of him. They were almost at level with the coach. _Still five left! Bloody hell!_ He turned to command the naval guard on the roof, but he was dead too already. Half his brain lay sprawled across the roof. Only the major was still with him. Major Rollins engaged the rider on the right with his sword, but was cut down. One of the men in disguise climbed the back of the coach and grabbed Rogers by his coat. He flung at the man but missed and nearly fell off himself. The pirate punched him in the gut, but Rogers used the momentum of the swing to aim his pistol like a club. He hammered the pistol onto the man’s head and shoulder, until he could kick him off the carriage. Everybody was dead, except for him and four disguised riders. Rogers clung to the coach that still raced ahead. And then a shot sounded. _This is it. I’m done for._ But he lived and the carriage began to wobble. The pirates had shot the axle of the wheel. The carriage veered to the left, and then Rogers flew in the air as the carriage toppled. Rogers spun and spun and knew no more.

He saw black first, when he opened his eyes, and then as his sight returned he only saw a fog of grey. _Where am I? Am I dead?_ He blinked tears until light pierced his brain as if a knife went through. _Surely, I wouldn’t feel any pain if I was dead right?_ He tried to move, and he groaned. No bone seemed whole anymore. His head pounded severely. _Rackham!_ Suddenly it all came back to him. _Four of them left._ The light stabilized and Rogers began to see colors. He willed his muscles to move. First his arms. Then his legs. _Is that was the rack might have felt like?_ He ignored the pain, and began to see a landscape of trees and bushes – willed his body to stand up. He turned around. Rackham was ridden off to safety by one of the pirates. The rest had fled, except for one rider with his back turned to Rogers, standing beside a horse and ready to hoist himself up. His hair was long. _Fucking Vane!_ Rogers discovered he still held the pistol. He lifted his arm. Charles Vane grabbed his saddle and lifted his foot seeking the stirrup to mount his black stallion. _Oh, no you won’t._ Rogers released his shot.

Vane fell flat on his stomach, while the horse neighed and ran off. Growling in pain, Charles crawled on his belly on the road. “Go!” he shouted at the trees. More riders were riding hard to catch up - militia. Rogers limped towards Charles Vane, past the broken carriage. He flung the pistol away and picked up the broken axle. “Go! Go! Go!”

As Rogers approached with the axle held high, Vane turned over and aimed a pistol at him. Rogers fell on him and knocked the pistol out of Vane’s hands just as the shot went off. Rogers lifted the axle again and swung it at Vane’s legs and then on his back. Somehow, Vane had gotten his sword and swung it upwards in defense. Backing up, Rogers evaded it just in time. Vane crawled up, waving the sword at him. Rogers blocked it, and used the rotation resulting from his own swing to smash his improvised club in Vane’s face. Vane fell down again. Rogers dropped the axle, but this time Vane blocked the impact with his sword and knocked the hilt into Rogers’ groin. He doubled over and then Vane’s fist landed on his chin. Rogers stumbled back into the carriage. Vane struggled  up, using the tip of his sword, but Rogers saw his chance. He swung the axle at Vane’s legs to topple him and knocked the sword out of the pirate’s hands. _Down! And you're staying down!_ Rogers kept hitting Vane on the back with the axle. Vane grabbed him by the waistcoat and pummeled his fist into his stomach and then into his face. Rogers staggered back and fell on his back. The fighter that Eleanor had warned him about, crawled on top of him, lifted him by the waistcoat and hit him in the face again. But Rogers was a fighter too. With sheer power of will, more than whatever energy he had left (none), he pulled and he tugged, despite getting another fist onto his brow. _I just have to hang onto him, until ..._

Militia men dragged Vane off Rogers by the arms. “Put him down!” one of them hollered. Seeing that there were enough of the militia to take care of Vane, Rogers gave in at last and laid his head on the dust road to rest.

“My lord,” a militia man approached him with a waterbag and went down on his knee. He held it to his lips and, parched, Rogers drank it.

Rogers would need more than water to recuperate, but the freshness gave him the spark of energy to try and stand again. All he had as strength for was lifting his head. “Rackham and the cache?”

The man shook his head at him. “Just Vane, my lord.”

“Well, it’s something,” he wheezed, and slowly sat. He held the waterbag in one hand, his knees drawn up and his head sagging.

The eldest of the militia joined them, holding a riderless black stallion by the reigns in readiness for him. “Captain Hornigold sailed for the last location where Flint was seen. He believes he lay at bear poles beyond the horizon, my lord. He may still intercept Rackham and the cache. All is not lost.”

Rogers sighed. “I believe I offered a reward for anyone who caught Vane. I will make sure you all have a share in it.” He lifted his hand and the younger man seated on his hunches beside him gripped his hand. “What’s your name, young man?”

“Samuel Johnson, my lord.”

Rogers used Samuel’s grip to crawl up and stand. “Thank you, Samuel.” Dizzy, Rogers wavered on his legs. Another man offered him a shoulder to lean on.  “There’s a book inside the carriage. I want it.” As they helped him on one of the black horses, he croaked, “Who sent you? How did you know?”

“Miss Guthrie suspected something was amiss and contacted Captain Hornigold about it, sir,” said the leader.

 _Eleanor! How had she known?_ And then he wondered whether God had truly sent him some guardian angel when he blew her across an ocean to London in a ship.  _She's the only one I can count on._ Though a spidery voice whispered that the sole result so far was Charles Vane's capture. _More irony?_ “And the regulars?”

The militia’s captain shook his head. “I don’t know anything about them, my lord.”

The militia had bound Vane and put him on a horse as well. The pirate had spat on the ground as soon as Eleanor’s name was dropped. Rogers wielded the horse around. Every step of the horse, every bounce hurt. Not a single bone, muscle or soft area of his body seemed to have been spared. Rogers studied the angry brooding pirate, head to toe. _So, this man is my rival._ He was brawny and muscular. The darkly tanned pirate had a beak nose and exotic high cheek bones.

Vane’s sky blue eyes needled him. “Didn’t like that I spit on her, did you?” His voice was gruff and hoarse.

“A peerless fighter, she called you,” said Rogers.

“You may wear a fancy suit and tie, but you fight dirty, I’ll give you that.” Vane indicated the militia men around them. “Still, I would have killed you if not for these men and then this – England in Nassau - would all have been over already.”

“Perhaps. You _are_ a peerless fighter, I’ll give her that.”

Vane leaned closer, grinned and sneered. “Of course, you and I both know this is only a delay of your execution by Spain. The island will never be yours.”

Rogers glared at Vane. “What is certain is that _she_ will never be yours again.” Vane tried to lunge for him and Rogers added, “I meant the island.”

“She’ll betray you, use you when it suits her, for the next man that tells her what she wants to hear,” growled Vane. “And I’m not talking about the island!”

Rogers urged his horse along and away from Vane. _It’s a good thing then_ , thought Rogers, _that I often tell her things she does not want to hear_.

“She’s a good fuck though, I’ll give _her_ that!” the pirate shouted.

“Gag him,” said Rogers, and they started on the long and slow way back for Fort Nassau.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cupid & Psyche: two passages of Marmion's book are read by Rogers to Rackham. The first passage are Cupid's angry words at Psyche for attempting to murder him, to look upon his face, for finding out his identity and wounding him. The second passage about the soul kiss come from a scene where Psyche kisses sleeping Cupid before taking the sword with the intent to kill him (believing him to be a monster) and light the lamp to verify whether he is a monster. For Rackham it is an extension of the conversation he had with Rogers about making Anne Bonny believe he was being tortured and her betrayal of his orders based on a rose, as well as a farewell to Anne in his mind. In 3x08 Anne kisses Rackham awake during the rescue operation. Rogers' affair with Eleanor is what gave Chamberlain the perfect excuse to completely dismiss Eleanor's warning, and thus ends up wounding Rogers: physically, loss of the cache and Rackham. 
> 
> Rogers versus Vane: The show didn't have a convo between these two. They set Rogers against the three main pirates in a scene reflecting Eleanor's words or advice about them: Flint is "reasonable" so Rogers reasons with him, Rackham "cares about his legacy" so Rogers dangles legacy in front of Rackham (and wears fancy clothes), Vane is the "peerless fighter" so Rogers fights him. Of the men who fought Vane, only Flint and Rogers came away from it alive, both because Eleanor intervenes. Vane is relentless. Even as it becomes clear he'll be caught by the millitia, he does not surrender but tries to get more punches in. Later in the dungeon with Eleanor, he tries to destroy and ruin the one good memory she has of her father. So, bested in a fight, I have him trying to sow distrust in Rogers of Eleanor and soil her reputation. Let's not kid ourselves - if Rogers and Vane spoke it eventually would end up being about Eleanor.


	24. A Nassau

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eleanor visits the sick bay. Max fears there is a spy amongst them leaking information to Flint and his allied pirates. Upon Rogers' return, Eleanor gives Chamberlain an earful. Dr. Marcus treats Rogers and Eleanor learns that Charles Vane is back on the island.

At the sick bay in the old warehouse at the beach, several of the men were delirious from high fever, if not outright unconscious. Others were weakening and coughing. The doctor explained to Eleanor that all they could do was isolate the cases as soon as possible, provide fluids and rest, and keep the linen and blankets clean. Most of these men looked like boys to her – just young men of anywhere between seventeen and early twenties. Though there were nurses working diligently to care for the sick, she sat with them for a while, talked to them, helped them drink or eat some chicken soup. She asked them about their homes, their family, whether they had a sweetheart. With those who were delirious or unconscious, she put a new wet compress on their forehead to help lower the fever. This little gesture of care and attention brought a smile to their faces, though she was not always sure whether they knew who she was.

One young man was pale as death, his eyes bluish and cheeks sunken. Pastor Lambrick recited prayers for him. The pastor looked up surprised when she came to stand beside him. “We need help, Pastor,” Eleanor said. “I think it would do these men good if women of the community came to help take care of them, keep them company, read to them. They miss their mothers and sisters. The islanders don’t have to fear the illness, because we’re already immune to it. Could you help see to that with the parish?”

“Of course, Miss Guthrie. You’ve set a fine example here today.”

She smiled a little. “Thank you. I do what I can.”

While Eleanor had persuaded Hornigold to move his militia after the governor’s caravan and to sail for the _Walrus_ , Max had time to ponder last night’s murder and the mystery how Anne might have discovered that Rackham was not going to be released. She could not fathom who on the island, but her and Jack, would even know how to contact Anne to warn her. The notion that the English would conspire against Rogers with a pirate was too ridiculous to contemplate. They only revealed secrets when they were either drunk or in the arms of one of Max’s whores. And since the tavern had been sealed off all night after the murder of Mr. Dufresne, this meant one of her whores betrayed her. Georgia might be a spy for Mrs. Mapleton, but she had shared Max’s bed all night. The other women loathed Mrs. Mapleton and would never transfer their loyalty from Max to her.

Though Max disliked Mrs. Mapleton, Max felt that her position with the rest of the council and the governor was compromised by her reputation as brothel madam. The pirates never cared much for that, but public appearances were important to the English. The murder on Mr. Dufresne made clear that Max had been at the wrong place at the right time. Rogers’ allusion to her using the whores to discourage men from joining Flint helped her realize that she had delayed the necessary for too long. Max required an intermediate with the girls, not because she could not handle them herself, but to elevate her reputation. Meanwhile she wanted to be sure her whores would never switch their loyalty over to her in-between. Hence, she hired Mrs. Mapleton.

That one of her whores might try to alert Anne Bonny of being duped in giving up the cache without getting Rackham in return for it was one thing. Anne had spent considerable time at the brothel and both Anne and Rackham had been owners of it. But if that girl also spied for Flint to attack the caravan, save Jack and steal the cache then Max had an altogether different problem. Her stomach churned at the idea alone. A part of her refused to consider it, but Featherstone was the sole man in her employ who was a former pirate and had been Jack’s quartermaster. Everybody else had either been a colleague of Max's once or had worked for Eleanor at the tavern. Featherstone was not a bold man and seemed content at his new life, a man of numbers, but she could see him choose Jack’s interest over hers out of misguided friendship reasons. And if Featherstone was somehow involved, then Idelle might be the spy. It was unlikely that Featherstone would ask another girl to spy for him. Idelle would scratch the girl's eyes out before she let them near Featherstone.

 _No, not Idelle_ , Max denied it. Idelle had always looked after her, always stood by her. Idelle was the one woman she trusted most as a friend. Idelle had helped her escape the brothel under the nose of Eleanor’s guards. Idelle distrusted Anne after Anne murdered Charlotte and Flint’s man. Idelle hated Eleanor for Max’s sake. In fact, Max suspected it might have been Idelle who had sought out one of Hornigold’s men to betray Eleanor’s whereabouts. _No, it cannot be Idelle_ , decided Max. It must be someone in the governor’s household, some islander they hired as a servant in the kitchens or the garden.  

By late afternoon, Eleanor left the sickbay and met Max outside of it, with her escort in tow. They walked back to the main square along the beach that had become part of society. Men pulled a cart with building material, another carried a ladder. A lean-to functioned as a little market place where Chinese sold self-made pots. Where previously the sole women ever to be seen on the beach were whores, now women in a lady’s attire and wide hats strolled around or sat talking at leisure on a bench overlooking the ocean, amidst men who discussed business at up-turned barrels with knives in their hands.

“Six more of them have fallen ill,” Eleanor said. “There's now a total of fourteen reported cases.”

“Are any of them mortal?”

“Not yet, but our forces are dwindling,” Eleanor said with knotted brow. “And it will get worse before it gets better. Meanwhile, Flint is out there somewhere committed to waging war against us. And soon news will return to Nassau as to whether Rackham and his money are on their way to Havana. And if they aren't, if you and I are right, if something happened and Hornigold's cavalry weren't in time to stop it, then in addition to everything else, we will be at war with Spain.”

“If you and I were right and something went wrong with the governor's caravan,” whispered Max. “I fear there is something even more unsettling we are about to face.”

 _Could there be anything even more unsettling?_ “What is that?” she murmured.  

“You and I will be immune to this disease, for it will only attack those unfamiliar to this place. You and I know Flint and can fight him. You and I, though outmatched, at least know what Spain is and can make best efforts to confront whatever they may send our way.”

A haggard looking Eleanor could barely hear this being mentioned so casually by Max, not after sitting with those sick young men. She did not want to battle Flint and Spain with dwindling forces. _God forbid if anything happens to Woodes._ She was tired and close to tears, sick from worry.

“But there is nothing more dangerous than the unfamiliar enemy. If the governor's caravan was attacked, it means someone knew where to find it.” Max stared at her intensely with those green-brown eyes of hers. “It means our secrets are no longer ours. It means there is a spy among us.”

 _Spies! Bloody hell! But who?_ _Now we have to start looking for pirate spies too?_ She wanted to ask Max whether she had any idea where to begin even, when the neighing of horses attracted her attention. She looked to her left and just saw a horse trudging through the city gate and Woodes slumped over it. _Jesus!_

Max was forgotten. Spies were forgotten. She only had eyes for him as he and two men of the private militia stopped in the middle of the market square. He looked awful – bloodied, broken, grimy, and beaten up.

“To the governor!” one of the captains at the mansion shouted.

She rushed towards him as he tried to slide off the horse. Eleanor was at his side at an instant and gave him her arm. His bloodied and bruised face was stern and his eyes looked harshly at her. Though he dithered on his feet, he was unwilling to show any weakness in front of her. But then he slumped through his knees and had to lean on the horse’s back with his elbow to stand.

Eleanor tried to help him up. _Look at him!_ _What did they do to him? Where is everybody else? Is he the sole survivor? Did Hornigold’s militia arrive on time?_ Woodes face grimaced in pain. He lowered his eyes and nodded in acknowledgement to her. _Oh my god! They got the cache and Rackham._ “Someone help him,” she ordered her escorts. They supported Woodes by the arms with their shoulders and helped him, limping, inside. “Fetch Dr. Marcus,” she commanded the men rushing outside of the mansion.

Forgotten and standing by her lonesome self, Max watched Eleanor and the bashed governor disappear towards the hallway. Her greatest fears had come true - there was a spy and the likeliest candidate was to be searched amongst her own girls. And then there had been Eleanor’s impulsive dash to the governor’s aid in the same manner that Eleanor once came to her aid when Hamund and his men gang raped her in public view. But where Max's pride had rejected Eleanor's help and protection, governor Rogers accepted it. This could only be seen as a public declaration of Eleanor as Rogers' mistress and she dreaded the consequences.

As Eleanor and Rogers entered the hallway, they were met by a stammering Chamberlain, white as a sheet. “Are you happy now?” Eleanor gave him an earful. “But no, you wouldn’t fucking listen to me. Couldn’t fucking trust me. Couldn’t allow forces to leave their fucking defense positions. I had the militia do your fucking job, and let’s hope it’s not too late for Hornigold to retrieve the cache and Rackham or we’re at war with bloody fucking Spain.”

Rogers met Chamberlain’s stunned eyes. He knew why the man had not bothered to take her warning serious. The commodore had never much taken her opinion into consideration, and after overhearing them in his office this morning probably even less so. “Not now, Eleanor,” he mumbled tired.

Shaking, Chamberlain backed away and Eleanor turned towards Woodes. “Let’s get you upstairs,” she said softly.

In his office, Eleanor helped him out of the dusty and bloodied justaucorps and waistcoat with the greatest patience. She filled the basin with water, grabbed a towel and set the tub on the other chair. She hunched down and gently dabbed a drenched towel on his forehead, then his cheeks, his nose and chin. Rogers had to bite away his pain, but her touch was gentle and caring, a torturous caress that he could suffer. “Tell me what happened this afternoon between the commodore and yourself.”

While he gave Eleanor a chance to vent, he gathered out of her account that she had scolded Chamberlain with strong language on the public market square. He remembered how she had run to him in support as he slid off the horse’s back in full public view as well. Eleanor might be wearing a lady’s dress, but her public conduct had not been. _Not at all._

On the one hand, she endeared him with her Nassau ways. Her unreserved show of affection and loyalty was extremely touching. But all that belonged in the private sphere, behind closed doors. In the privacy of their apartments, she could hold him, raise her voice, drink rum, scoop out marmalade with her finger, prance around in her chemise for half of the morning and say “fuck.” Behind closed doors, it did not matter what a servant or a soldier may have heard or seen, not so far away from England. But such emotional public display as that of today was unseemly, ineffective and dangerous. Chamberlain would always be a prick, but the other men would lose all respect and come to ignore her commands if she continued in this way. With the possibility of pirates such as Flint sabotaging efforts on the island while he was less mobile the coming days, he had to rely on her more than ever.

The biggest issue for him was to make her see that, for she truly did not recognize the harm or the danger in it. To her mind she was simply showing her loyalty and affection, proving herself his greatest supporter and she did not care if all Nassau knew it. Like a young child, she showed her feelings unguardedly without any boundaries, whether it was love or anger. And Eleanor would hurt if he chastised her for it. And yet, she was no child, nor a savage. Eleanor knew perfectly well how to conduct herself if she applied herself to it. He had seen it on the _Delicia_ , at the council’s inauguration, on so many occasions. She must have experienced the benefits that came from keeping up a lady’s decorum amidst society. But lately she acted more and more as if she had forgotten it all and she fell back into old impetuous habits. Rogers blamed the island’s uninhibited lure and call for it. And while Nassau might have played a part in it, the cause he least suspected was himself.  

Finally, Rogers tried to speak, “Eleanor –“

But she shushed him and dabbed the towel on his lips, while her face was level with his. “There now,” she whispered and smiled encouragingly. “All cleaned up again.” Her fingertips caressed his cheek and rested under his chin.

They stared in one another’s eyes, when a knock sounded on the door. He patted her hand on his knee. Her face turned away and she rose. “Yes, come in,” he said.

Dr. Marcus entered. “I come to see the patient.” He put his medical bag down, opened it and rummaged in it. Eleanor lit the candles in the room as the hour of sunset was upon them. The sky had darkened and had acquired hues of bright flaming orange to deep red and purple. The glimmering sun was a ball of brilliant fire as it hovered the edge of the horizon.

“Miss Guthrie,” said Rogers, “Could you ask Dyson to bring me some chicken soup. I had no dinner yet.”

“Of course. At once.”

While the doctor probed him, lifted his arms, felt his knee, tested his ribs and inspected the pounding bump on the back of his skull, Rogers inquired after his men at the sick bay. Dr. Marcus gave him an account on the medical progress of the sick, but also told him how Eleanor’s visit had improved, if not the physical status of his men, at least their emotional well being. “Young Peter Mallister was not doing well at all last night. The nurses had to force feed him. But Miss Guthrie sat with him for a while, asking him about his family and home in England. Apparently he has a sweetheart in Ashford. Afterwards, he ate all he could. Said that Miss Guthrie told him that his sweetheart would want him to do all that he can to become well again and return to her and not to lose hope.” The doctor smiled. “While I cannot actually promise that Peter will pull through if his fever worsens, I can say that it is certain he would have weakened further otherwise.” He sighed. “I am almost tempted to beg of you if you could spare her an hour or so daily. But it seems that Miss Guthrie offered a solution of her own. She asked Pastor Lambrick to find volunteers amongst the ladies of the interior to visit the sick, for the nurses are too overwhelmed with the physical relief.” As Rogers listened his heart swelled with pride. “If you don’t mind my saying so, my lord,” Dr. Marcus said in a far more confidential tone. “I know she was convicted to hang for piracy, but quite honestly she is a very charitable lady. Perhaps a bit too rough around the edges for London society. In a place like this though… Well,” the doctor smiled, “the men in the warehouse spoke of her as if she were an angel.”

Eleanor entered and Rogers changed the subject by asking, “So, what’s the verdict, doctor?”

The doctor rose. “You might have a mild concussion, my lord. That’s a nasty bruise along your ribs. Your knee is sprained. I advise you to take it easy for the coming days. Not too much exercise and everything will mend itself.”

“Thank you, doctor,” Rogers grimaced. “Rest assured, I do not plan to race any horse soon.”

Dr. Marcus turned towards Eleanor with a good natured smile. “In the care of Miss Guthrie you will soon be up and running again, I’m sure. The men still talk of your visit today, M’am. It did them good.”

Eleanor stood near the window, her hands folded before her. “You are too kind, doctor.” She turned around and looked out of the window, at the market square and the night.

Dr. Marcus took out bandages. “I’ll dress that cut on your arm now.”

“What happened exactly?” Eleanor asked with her back to them. “How was the caravan attacked?”

“They were seven,” Rogers began. “Dressed in black, faces covered. They picked off the regulars and naval soldiers one by one, including Major Rollins. He fell to a sword blow. We managed to take down three of them. They shot the wheel of the carriage and it fell to the roadside.”

“Were you in it?” she said with a trembling voice.

“No, I fought along with my men, clinging to the back of it. Maybe that was my luck, for it catapulted me out of the way. And Rackham would surely have strangled me with his chains if he could have.”

"So, they all escaped with the cache and Rackham and then left you for dead?” 

“Not all, no. I came to when the last one tried to mount his horse. I shot him, beat him and held on to him until the militia you sent could immobilize him.” Rogers waited a moment, before saying, “We caught Charles Vane.”

Though Woodes had barely spoken Charles’s name loud enough, the name echoed like tolling bells in Eleanor’s mind. She felt the ground beneath her feet give way. She leaned on the window sill to grab on to something. The image of Charles in the dungeons holding a torch while he threatened her floated foremost to her mind and then the memory of the fireship. His presence on the island and his involvement in trying to take from her what was dear to her, yet again, pushed her overboard in the dead of night into the ocean. She was gradually dragged down to the icy cold bottom of the deep. Eleanor saw only red, an ocean red as blood, mingled with the ruined features or her crucified father. She had been filled with nothing but care and love for Woodes when she tended to him, but that bloody ocean of Pontic hatred had swept it away. The sound of crickets buzzed in her ears in unison with her blood, boiling and rushing. Mortified, Eleanor said, “Charles is here?”

“It's a very small consolation given what we lost today,” he said quietly. “But you had the foresight to put Captain Hornigold in pursuit of Flint's ship. It's the only reason we have any prayer at all of recovering the cache and avoiding disaster.” The doctor had bandaged the cut on his right arm, nodded and left his office. Assured of their privacy and feeling hot, he undid the top tie of his shirt. “If Hornigold is unable to capture Flint's ship, Flint is able to dictate the next chapter of this story. The choices we will likely then face will be of the most awful kind.” Rogers studied her closer. She had not yet responded once, not even moved. “The ones that promise only bad outcomes in every direction.” His voice grew doubtful, distracted by the absence of any further reaction from her. _Is she even hearing me?_ “Eleanor, look at me.”

Though spoken quietly, it sounded like a crack of thunder to her. _Is that my name?_ She blinked and saw the market square covered in the night’s darkness before her, instead of that swaying bloody ocean. Slowly, Eleanor circled around and looked down at the wounded man seated at the other side of the desk, almost annoyed that he pulled her away from that ocean. Even if it was a cold and hateful one, it still drowned out the pain she felt. His cuts, bruises and wounds reminded her of the ones she felt needling inside her that very same moment. How he looked, she felt. And his ruined features reminded her of her father. She felt her own old wounds being torn open, the ones she had buried to the bottom of a lake of the drowned.

What Rogers saw filled him with dread. A coldness emanated from her. She moved almost like an animal caught in a corner. Whatever they were this morning, or last night, he saw no partner of his standing by that window – not a lover, not a friend, not even an advisor, but someone drawn in to herself, looking at him as if he were a stranger. Eleanor had taken deadly matters in her own hands once in retaliation of Vane’s actions, starting a war against Max and Rackham – a battle that she lost. “The challenges I see ahead for both you and I are of the gravest sort. I need to know that I can rely upon you to help me navigate through it.”

Taken aback by his doubt, she whispered, “Of course you can.”

But Eleanor had uttered her reassurance too hastily. Her own demeanor defied her words. He could not believe her. _And if she believes it herself, she knows herself less than I do her_. “You understand my concern about calling you a partner - from the moment I first walked into your cell in London - was whether you'd be able to resist Nassau's temptation.“ Woodes spoke calmly, not belittling, but honestly and hoarse. When he spoke of that cell now, of that moment, Eleanor remembered what state she had been then – in that same red ocean craving for blood. Rogers hammered into her defenses .“The gravity of your personal history urging you to resume petty rivalries and repeat the costliest of your mistakes, preventing you from ever truly moving into the future I wanted to build here, rather than gravitating back into your past. And now in the moment I need you the most - need the best of you the most.” The last he said softly, pleading. “I fear the temptation you are feeling is about to be at its strongest.”

Eleanor looked away. _Why is he laying my old faults before my feet?_ It felt like she was on trial all over again, but this time directly before him. _Did I not prove time and time again that I can rise above the petty?_ She had made up her differences with Max, never even desired her father’s tavern back. She had never once reproached Hornigold for capturing her. Eleanor closed her eyes. “You're wrong,” she said decidedly.

“No,” he insisted in a louder voice. “I'm not wro –“

A coughing fit overwhelmed him, and her heart jumped at the sound of it. Woodes rested his hand on his abdomen and moved it to his chest, to his ribs, while his head hung down. For a moment, the bloody ocean was forgotten. He was weak, hurt, wounded. _He needs to rest, go to bed, and heal, instead of worrying whether I will do anything rash._ Her love flared. It was not drowned out by hatred.

When Rogers recovered himself enough, he looked up and stared at her. “I am not wrong!” he repeated. “That man sitting in a cell in my fort is the embodiment of that temptation for you. It is self-evident.”

Eleanor stared at the lonely candle burning low on the desk. Woodes indeed might have a point. Just moments ago, she wanted that murderer, that coward in his cell, to die forty thousand times, by her own hands, for the pain and irreparable and premeditated damage he had willfully caused. She wanted Charles to be eviscerated from her life and this world, so that he could not hurt her and anyone she loved anymore.

“Now, I am asking whether you're able to see past the petty and the personal to remain focused on what is right now of vital importance to both of our futures, to our very survival. If you have any regard for me, any respect at all, then I'm asking you to tell me the truth about what you're capable of right now.”

As Eleanor admitted the truth to herself, she was free to remind herself this was not the Nassau of the past anymore, nor was she Nassau’s Queen. It was not just her island and her life and her father. It was Woodes’s fort, and England’s island, the island of many daughters, sons , fathers and mothers. Charles was not her prisoner, but the governor’s. Woodes had every right to suspect her, and to know what she felt, and thought. If she could not be honest to him, then her vow to him last night was meaningless. 

Eleanor looked at him and said quietly, “The moment you walked into my cell in London, do you want to know what I first thought?” Her features were soft, almost angelic, when she began. But as she strolled away from the window, towards him, to the right side of the desk, her face hardened. “I wasn't thinking about the charges against me. I wasn't thinking about a reprieve from the noose. I wasn't thinking about piracy, nor pardons, nor Nassau.” Her soft voice tinged with a flavor of the rage she felt for Charles as she allowed the bloody waves to wash over her. “In that moment, I was consumed by one thought and one thought only - the idea that this may be my opportunity to gain some measure of revenge against my father's murderer, that I might play a role in the execution of Charles Vane.”

Rogers saw her transform before his very eyes. It was quite intimidating. What he saw was ruthlessness, beyond even that of his own. She fully admitted that she had used him from the very beginning for revenge. She had grown so formidable and masculine before his very eyes that he could imagine her as a furious giant warrior, sword in hand, ready to strike a blow at the beast.

“I know you now,” she said, staring into his eyes. “I trust you now. I'm devoted to you now. I love you now.” It was the strangest – no, the coldest - love declaration spoken in history. While Eleanor said it with absolute certainty, like a ceremonial vow, it was devoid of all emotion. “So, I will tell you the absolute truth about how I'm going to react when faced with the thing sitting in that cell in your fort.” She whispered, “I honestly don't know.”

Rogers wondered whether Eleanor was still even human. Her love declaration came from a soul being ferried to the other side of the river of pain, like a ghost amongst the ghouls of her past, marinated in hatred and calling up the furies to exact their vengeance. Rogers feared for her very soul.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A Nassau: Eleanor displays more old-time behavior. She swears, confronts people publically and rushes to Rogers' side in full public view. Imo Eleanor's decision to follow her heart is the cause of it. By shedding her layers and allowing herself to act on her emotions in 3x07, she regresses to prior behavior. Eleanor is most impulsive when she feels the strongest. While Eleanor vowed to "change", a person cannot actually change habits without deconstructing them first. S1 and S2 Eleanor is the grown up version of 13 year old scared Eleanor. Then 13 year old scared Eleanor gets re-educated, and was given the tools, but has not fully integrated them yet. Rogers starts the integration process in the 3x08 confrontation scene.
> 
> Candles: the candle props in the Eleanor-Rogers office scene have altered for the third time. We get chandeliers with long high candles on the left side (Rogers' side) with single candles burning low on the right side (Eleanor's side). Rogers criticises her and expresses doubts. He lays his heart out on the line: mentioning a future he envisions for them, respect, regard, his fears. Eleanor's emotionality is under severe duress. It's not actually gone, because we do see glimpses of it (when he coughs), but she's in shock and sealing herself off. The candles in the scene reflect that. 
> 
> Mirrors: There are 2 mirrors shown in the scene. The big one with the Cupid and the chandelier symbolizes the mirror that Rogers holds up for Eleanor. He insists she takes a long deep look at herself. In the right corner is a smaller mirror with 2 singular candles placed in front of it. Eleanor functions as a mirror for Rogers to look at himself. (I address his self-reflecting in the next chapter). 
> 
> The desk: a symbol of power reversal. Eleanor stands and moves behind the desk (the governing side), while Rogers is seated at the supplicant side. This is a reversal of the 3x02 scene where Rogers listens to Eleanor's story. Then with the 3x03 address scene on the ship, Eleanor joins Rogers' side behind his desk. In Nassau we see the two of them standing at the same side of the desk, like a team. But at the end of 3x08 she stands all by herself behind the desk. Not only does it give the impression of a divide between the two, but it connects Eleanor with the loneliness associated with the "fucking chair". 
> 
> Cupid & Psyche: When Cupid is wounded and flees from Psyche to heal, Psyche is forced to work in service of Venus. Her last mission is in the underworld. This chapter foreshadows the underworld mission, with Rogers thinking her soul being feried across the Acheron ("river of pain"). Eleanor as Psyche is readying herself to go down into the underworld. In the legend, Psyche arms herself to kill Cupid (never having seen him) with a sword and thus takes on a masculine warrior aspect. As she is about to strike, she sees his true form, takes an arrow and nicks her finger, and falls in love even more. With Eleanor sounding like a warrior and then making a love declaration, the show makes it easy to work in the legend.
> 
> Sunset: In The Reformed, Eleanor looks at Venus as the morning star. Planet Venus appears also as an evening star at other times of the year. Morningstar and Evening Star myths are resurrection myths. The "fall" or death is heralded by the evening star and thus after sunset in the west. After performing an underworld task, the hero is resurrected as a morning star at dawn in the east. That is why I positioned Rogers' rooms in the west wing, included a sunset, and why this scene imo plays out after nightfall.


	25. The Guide

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eleanor expects Rogers to be angry with her over her confession of having used him to exclude Charles Vane from the pardon. Instead, Rogers reveals part of his strategic, calcuting mind. Over tea, Rogers reminds Eleanor what is expected of her as an exemplary figure in a civilized Nassau. He instructs her to seek out Vane, the following morning, and gives her words of advice on how to deal with it.

Startling Eleanor, Dyson entered the office with the chicken soup. She shrunk visibly, towards the windows. Shaking, even now she feared Woodes’ judgment, feared he would send her to London on the _Gloucestershire_ together with Charles Vane. Surely, he will blame Charles’ actions on me, because naming him backed Charles into a corner to blow up the fort, escape with the help of a fireship and now avenge himself by taking the cache.

Meanwhile Rogers struggled with the dilemma on how to save Eleanor’s soul as well as ensure both their survival. He felt like he walked into a forest full of traps. One wrongly chosen word and the thin tether between them, the sole lifeline for Eleanor as she descended into the abyss, would snap, just as it once did when he blamed and resented Sarah.

After Dyson helped Rogers and his chair closer to the desk so that he could eat, his manservant asked pointedly, “Will there be anything else, my lord?”

Rogers looked up at his manservant. Dyson had entered into his father's household service when Dyson was a young man of sixteen, while Rogers had been a mere boy of seven. Still unfamiliar with the expected distance between master and servant, Dyson had talked with young Rogers like an older brother. Dyson had done more than talk. While Rogers’ mother scolded him for fighting with a boy who bullied him at school, Dyson showed him his first punching moves in the backyard, behind the shed where no one saw.

“Mr. Rogers,” Dyson had said, with a stalk of grass between his teeth and his hands in his pockets. “If you want to win against bullies stronger and bigger than you, there is no way to do it honorably.” And Dyson would have known, because he was thin and lanky, and he had grown up in a quay house at Bristol port. Dyson leaned over him and put his hand on Rogers shoulder. “When you must fight, you fight dirty, Mr. Rogers. Next time one of those older boys tries to bully you, be the meanest bastard that keeps kicking, pulling and shoving and punching, and just never give up. That’s how they know that even if they might punch you a bloody nose or a blue eye, you can still hurt them back ten times over.” And then as if Dyson suddenly became aware he had given the young boy advice that Rogers’ mother would disapprove of, he added. “Just don’t be a bully yourself. Don’t go picking fights all the time, because then you’ll run into someone who’ll do worse than give you a bloody nose.”

Dyson’s advice had served him. Within weeks every other schoolboy took a wide turn around him, no matter what age, height or size. At ten, he entered the boxing training one of the teachers had set up as physical exercise. The first month of his apprenticeship as a sailor aboard John Yeamans’ ship on its way to Newfoundland, he had selected the most notorious fighter, Will Hall, who liked to hassle the midshipmen amongst the crew. One day, Rogers made sure to get in Will’s way, angering him. After the fight, Rogers had earned respect amongst his fellow sailors. When Rogers established his own home, he hired Dyson as his personal manservant.

So, knowing each other well, Rogers realized by the tone of Dyson’s voice that his manservant had sensed the tension between Eleanor and himself in the room. Dyson offered to be useful in whatever capacity that Rogers might need him. Rogers stole a glance at Eleanor. She looked more scared than anything, ready to bolt. Previously, Rogers had commanded Eleanor to stay after he had berated her, either as her governor or as her virile lover. But now he was wounded, could not even stand without extra support. With the loss of the cache and Rackham he did not feel like he was much in command. And he certainly did not have the authority of a husband over her. And yet, perhaps something domestic, something mundane might be of help tonight. “Yes, please. I think I would like some tea after."

“Of course,” Dyson bowed his head and left immediately.

Eleanor had been watching Rogers from under her eyelashes. Not once had she detected any reaction from him, not to her admission that she had used him, not to her declaration of love. He had only stared - or was it glared - at her, until Dyson interrupted them. And now, Rogers blew at the hot soup in his spoon and ignored her still. When Charles and she fought, they would scream insults at one another. She’d shove him, slap him, and he’d plant a fist in her stomach or jaw, and then they’d make up by fucking. Though she hated that type of physically violent rowing, at least she knew how to deal with it. _But this?_ With this type of arguing, she was at a loss. Though it left no visible bruises, it was no less painful. She was reminded of the little Rogers had told her about his separation with Sarah, how he had been bitter and could not forgive her faults, and how neither of them could repair the damage. While Eleanor studied her hands, she decided to bite the bullet. “You’re angry with me.”

“No,” he said as he spooned his soup.

She could not believe him saying so. _He has to be upset, right_. “You were a complete stranger to me then,” she explained.

“I know.”

"It was before you made me promise not to manipulate, lie and withhold," she insisted.

"Hmhmmm."

“He came back,” she whispered. “He came back!” she insisted. “He’s not like you and I, aiming to better himself. He does not believe there is anything about himself that he needs to better or change.”

Rogers smiled to himself. “I know. I’m not angry with you,” he repeated.

Baffled, she gaped at him. “Why not?”

He did not immediately reply, wanting to finish his meal first. It did him some good. It gave him back some of that strength that he had spent in fighting seven pirates and subduing Charles Vane. When he was finally done, he laid his spoon down in the bowl and used the napkin to dab his mouth. He noticed a bloodstain of his cracked lip as a reminder. “The day I decided _not_ to send you back to London on the _Gloucestershire_ was the day you named him as your father’s murderer. Like any of his numerous victims, you have every right to hate Vane and to desire justice. Since then, I considered you naming him as the equivalent of a victim bringing charges against him.”

Eleanor frowned. It made sense to her that he had made a decision about living with the suspicion that she had used him initially. Still, there was a difference between making that decision based on a suspicion, and having your mistress actually confess to it. _He ought to feel resentment over it._

Rogers settled back in the chair, folded his hands before him and watched her with some calculation. It was obvious she thought his explanation poppycock. Earlier, Rogers had tried to soften the impending disagreement by revealing his own weakness to her, how he needed her, depended on her to help him. He had never admitted or shown his weakness to anyone like that, least of all Sarah. Each argument had ended with Sarah or him leaving the room and depart to their own privacy (towards the end of their marriage for days on end without seeing or speaking to one another). And then when enough time had passed they would pretend as if nothing had happened. Of course, that had never truly resolved anything. The memory of his failed marriage had urged him to argue his point with Eleanor differently.

She had spoken truthfully to him - why she had named Charles, her feelings for him and the honest admission that she simply was not in any state to determine what she would do. And Rogers owed her truth in return. He decided to take the gamble. “I needed a pirate that I could declare a villain for the other pirates to hunt for bounty, so that my men could secure the beach and town after the pardon speech. When I learned that he was once your lover, I feared that since the pirates themselves delivered you to England, that they would rather side with Vane and thus my divisive tactic might fail.” Eleanor flinched when he referred to Vane as her former lover. Obviously, she preferred not to be reminded of that fact at all. “When I knew it was not just because of a mundane dispute and I learned how he himself made enemies on the island I settled on Vane’s name wholeheartedly.”

Eleanor stared at him, fathoming how strategically his mind had been all along. “We used each other in the same matter for different reasons,” she whispered.

“Yes. If I recall it correctly, you called it ‘mutual interests’. I needed a villain, and you wanted your father’s murderer brought to justice.”

Eleanor did not mind having been used for it. She had participated in it willingly. And yet, it also explained why Rogers did not even contemplate hunting Charles. Rogers was like two pirates in one privateer - Jack and Flint. She wondered how much of Woodes’ choices had been that calculated from the very beginning. _When did it all begin?_

But before her thoughts could go any further down that path, Rogers pointed at his face. “And _this_ only confirms your claim about him. Even as Hornigold’s cavalry arrived and was upon us, he kept on hitting me. He was wounded from a gunshot. I disarmed him from his gun and sword. But he would rather fight with his fists, despite there being no escape, than surrender. I’m not wholly unfamiliar with that type.” He kept it to himself though that he was such a fighter himself. There was only one immense difference between Vane and himself - Rogers only fought to gain something or to set an example. “That man will always fight with the aim to destroy – Charles Town, your father, the fort, a ship, my face.”

Eleanor appraised his handsome face, all cut up and beaten. To her he was still handsome. In time, it would heal and either leave no trace or become a scar. And she loved his scars. For the first time though, she realized it was almost entirely Charles’ doing that Woodes looked this beat up. More, Woodes was one of two men who lived to tell the tale. Flint was the other. Woodes had not just survived the fight; he had caught Charles Vane at a great risk for himself, clinging to him at the last to prevent him from escaping. _Did he do that for me?_   _No_ , she knew. _Woodes does what he does, because he thinks it is best and in his interest, period._ He was actually very similar to Charles or Jack or Flint in that regard. It just so happened that his interests aligned with hers. She felt several impulses all at once then. One, to go down that dungeon and punish Charles for hurting her man. And two, to straddle Woodes’ lap, kiss every cut on his face and fuck him. She felt almost instantly horny. Her breathing was rapid and her eyes dilated. Since Woodes was easier to get to than Charles, Eleanor took a step into his direction.

Right on cue, Dyson entered with a tray of tea cups and pot to serve it. “Your tea, my lord.”

“Thank you, Dyson,” Rogers nodded. “Miss Guthrie will take care of it.”

 _Tea?_ Eleanor did not care about tea in that instant. No, she wanted his tongue and his cock inside of her, press her body against him, feel him inside her, reward him for doing what she believed to be the impossible right where he sat. _Who wants tea at such a moment?_

As Dyson left with the empty soup bowl, Rogers indicated the tray. “If you’d be so kind, Eleanor. I am thirsty and I truly desire a cup of tea.” He lifted his arm and indicated his figure. “I’m not exactly in a state that I can do it myself.”

Eleanor sighed. Only a true Englishman would desire tea and stand upon ceremony over it, even if to her mind they were beyond all ceremony. And so she walked to the tray on his desk and poured him a cup and then added three spoons of sugar made from sugarcane, just the way he liked it. She placed it in front of him on the desk, within easy reach.

“Thank you.” He lifted the china cup by the delicate ear, circled the teaspoon to help the sugar dissolve and then sipped.

Since Eleanor could hardly jump a man drinking his tea, she decided to pour a cup for herself. She might as well, as it would look odd if she did not, though she was not actually thirsty for tea. _Well, perhaps mixed with some rum._ Drinking tea also meant she would have to sit down. She could hardly sit in his governor's chair, but the other one was occupied by the basin of water that she had used to clean his wounds earlier. So, she picked up the basin and set it out of the way. Finally seated, she looked at him with her cup and saucer in hand. He sat for a moment relaxed, his legs stretched in front of him and eyes closed. But when he opened his eyes, he sat up straight again, though he did not redo the sash of his bloodstained shirt. She felt stupid sitting stiff and ceremonially while they were alone. He had seen her naked, kissed her where no man had kissed her before. Woodes smiled at her from above the rim of his cup as he sipped. Eleanor frowned. _Is he mocking me?_

His smile faltered. “Why are you making that face?”

Her mood was over, and she could hardly tell him, “I wanted to fuck you a minute ago, but instead we’re drinking stupid tea.” Something about the whole tea-serving and drinking just made that impossible. One of her earliest memories of her father and mother was her mother pouring tea and her parents sitting together, drinking and talking civilly. So, instead she searched for something else to say that bothered her. “You still don’t trust me,” she said in reproach. “Will you ever?”

It sounded too much like an accusation that Sarah once lay at Rogers’ feet. _Trust needs to be earned, built over time._ That was what he had said to Sarah then. However, he had never allowed Sarah the means to regain his trust. Instead he oversaw all finances or housed her and their children with his mother whom he trusted to keep a tight budget. At least, he ought to give Eleanor a chance to earn it and tell her exactly what he had an issue with, even if it hurt her,  as well as talk about the most difficult thing there was - feelings.

He sighed. “I trust your loyalty and your affections for me. But I do not fully trust your ability to control your impulses, in hatred and in love.” Rogers put his cup down. “The past twenty four hours I have seen you act and on impulse more than the past two months.” And before Eleanor could utter a word in self-defense, Rogers lifted his hand. “Please hear me out, Eleanor. I am not actually referring to last night. While it may have been feeling that guided you, I know you made that decision with deliberation – in mind and heart. And I’m…” He thought for a moment on how to express his feelings about it. He was not used to it, let alone in a strong language, let alone about sex. He preferred to show it rather than talk about it. “Immensely grateful for it, humbled by it. You have given me a wondrous night, in sacred trust. I -” He stopped. While he knew how he felt, he was not yet committed to say it.

Eleanor had listened to him in silence, and though his words were not grand, nor poetic, she was suddenly bashful over it. Her cheeks felt hot. Her breathing was rapid and his deep blue eyes spoke the words he could not yet bring himself to say to her. _Last night is sacred to him. And I would have defiled it earlier by jumping his bones._

“What I mean to say is that you let your feelings and impulses override your mind and behave unguarded _in public_. Chamberlain may be an arrogant fool steeped in the prejudice of his noble upbringing and has shown you little to no respect, but he did not get where he is – a Commodore – without earning it and proving his worth before the Admiralty. If you insult him and in front of his men, you not only undermine him, but yourself and me by extension.”

“He’s not exactly civil either,” she retorted heatedly. “He said something about you _trusting_ in me, but he meant _thrusting_.”

Rogers lowered his head and sighed. “He was in the corridor, when we… He heard us this morning. He was out of line!” He opened his eyes and stared at her imploringly. “Eleanor, you can only win his respect by showing you are a better person than he is. And you can only lose the respect of every naval officer and dragoon in my service if you continue to swear at their superiors. Since, my movement will be restricted the coming days, you will have to command my men on site and in cooperation with Chamberlain.” He leaned closer to her and reached for her hand. “I know you can earn their respect. Dr. Marcus gave me a positive account on the impression you made at the sick bay. Remember the admiration you won of Mr. Forris, Mr. Lardener and others aboard the _Delicia_. They’re not all like Chamberlain. They don’t expect you to live up to the standard of a lady in London, but you are more than a common saleswoman on the fish market. You must set the standard of a civilized Nassau, and therefore act civil.” He brought her hand to his lips and kissed it gently, properly.

The way Woodes explained it to her reminded Eleanor of her mother who had tried to teach her how to be a little lady and curb her impulses. Eleanor knew Woodes was right. She had let herself slide into dealing with those who frustrated her as if they were pirates, who only listened to her if she swore and spoke strongly. And she felt deeply ashamed of herself all of a sudden. “I will seek out Chamberlain in the morning and apologize to him. And I will do better.” It brought a smile to Woodes’ lips and as he let go of her hand, she cupped his scarred cheek and brushed her thumb lightly across the old scar. He closed his eyes at that. Suddenly, she remembered him recoiling from her for an instant when she held him up on the market square. “Was that why you first flinched and drew away from me when I rushed to your side? Because a lady wouldn’t do that?”

Rogers nodded. “Yes,” he whispered. He opened his eyes again and pressed his lips together in regret. “The whole town now knows that you share the governor’s bed. At a time that pirate enemies seek to stir trouble that was...unwise.”

She retracted her hand, and folded both her hands in her lap. “I’m sorry, I didn’t -”

“Shsh. It’s done now.” He brought his hand to her face and lifted her chin. “Yours was the first face I longed to see.” She could not stop herself if she wanted to. But they were in private quarters now. He had not said anything about behaving properly behind closed doors. She raised herself from her chair, leaned over him, brought both her hands around his jaw and pressed her lips on his. Rogers groaned and whispered. “Careful. I’m very fragile for the moment.”

“He did this to you,” she murmured to his lips. 

“You should see the other guy,” Rogers grinned.

Eleanor let go and shook her head. “Better not. I promise to do better, but I might break my promise if I see him.”

“I fear you will have to.” Rogers picked up his tea cup. The tea had cooled off. So, he downed it in one go.

“Why? What do you mean to do with him?”

“Since we both are his personal victims, we are too compromised in a spiritual sense of the law, even when not literally, to have him tried and hanged here. It might look like vengeance instead of justice. And it would take time – a judge needs to be appointed, a court installed, a jury selected. We can’t risk the street getting unsettled or Flint’s allies setting up a rescue attempt. If we lost the cache and Rackham, then Spain must see that it was against all our efforts to return it to them. So, I’m sending him to London. The Admiralty can judge and execute him.”

She exhaled a breath she did not know she had been holding and sat back down in the chair beside his. _Yes, she realized, we don’t need to do this ourselves._  It was as if she had forgotten for a while already that they were part of England again. Eleanor questioned whether she had ever fully realized it until now. Emotionally she had regarded it as their island – Woodes’s and hers. As a consequence she had assumed Woodes and she had to deal with every issue personally. She had always been obliged to make the decisions all on her own, if she wanted to preserve some semblance of humanity and security in Nassau. Surrendering that responsibility to London instead lifted the weight from her shoulders. She even could find a sense of justice in the knowledge that she would live here, on the island, to help build a civilized Nassau, while Charles would endure a prison cell in the Marshalsea and hang over Wapping. It set her own ordeal to right somehow.

In Rogers’ mind it solved many issues. It removed Vane from the island and away from Eleanor – admittedly even from himself – and Flint would be unable to frame Rogers as a governor who hanged pirates. But Rogers was not fully done yet. “By sending him to London, you can never be a witness at his trial, nor lay any charges against him about the murder of your father. You will have to live with that fact. That said, because of the massacre at Charles Town, you can be assured that the Admiralty will find him guilty and hang him.” Then gently he said, “You played your role, when you named him to me. But in a civil world we deal out justice, not revenge. I require from you that you offer him a chance to a merciful death if he pleads guilty on the charges of piracy – no drawn out public trial, no Wapping, no gibbet. You shall propose him this plea, tomorrow morning, personally. He may have been base in life, but I want you to offer him the dignity that any man deserves if he so chooses.” He took her hand in his once more. “You ask of me to trust you, to trust in your higher senses, to trust that you can withstand the temptation. Here is your chance to earn it. It is also your only chance to redress your father’s murder in order to move into the future - our future,” he whispered. “So, you shall have your one moment to confront him, if you wish it. Do you think you can do all this, and return to me, without harming him?”

While her hatred ran deep, it was now becalmed. Charles would die. This was all the assurance she needed. It was a relief she did not need to kill him herself to make sure of it. She had no need of some drawn out public spectacle to quench her thirst of his blood. Least of all did she care whether her father’s name was on the list of Charles’s crimes far away in London. Dead was dead. “Yes, I can do that,” she said. 

“Don’t expect it to be easy. That man aims to destroy what he can. If he cannot do it with gun, sword or fists, he’ll try with poisonous words. He won’t just sit there, broken, listen to you and say, ‘yes, please’. He’ll talk to you, goad you, say whatever comes to mind that can hurt your feelings, or make you doubt yourself.”

Eleanor realized that Roger was actually clutching her hand. _He is afraid for me_. “I understand.”

Rogers was not yet assured, but he had to make that leap of faith in her. All he could do was give her guidance, advice.“If you feel at any time that your impulses might take over, realize you are free to walk away from him. You can leave his cell any time you wish to. He’s the prisoner. Not you. You don’t have to prove anything to him. Still, you’re only human. So, if he manages to trap you mentally in that cell with him, then as a last resort –“ Rogers looked around to give her something to hold on to in her mind. “you think of tea.”

“He will say whatever he can think of to hurt me. I am free to walk out. And if I’m trapped I’ll think of tea,” she recited his advice. She repeated these words in her mind several times as a corset to keep her mind upright and from faltering under the pressure of provoked impulse.

Rogers sighed. The darkness Rogers had seen more than an hour ago was disguised by studiousness, though he did not actually believe it had passed. The glow she had about her the past weeks – since Bermuda he realized – was not there. Her little smile playing so often around her lips was gone too. He realized that he had been the primary cause of her blooming the past month, but that Vane’s return overshadowed it all. He had done all he could do for her though, so that she could return to the light. It was out of his hands now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tea - Her love declaration in 3x08 was devoid of emotion. It wouldn't have made Rogers swoon, not right after she admits to using him and he stares at her in a way that says, "who am I looking at?" The confrontation is a quarrel that somehow got resolved off-screen. Rogers' concern about 'gravitating back to her past' regards her lapse in public behavior in 3x08, but from 3x09 Eleanor behaves impeccably in public, as if she has integrated the anglification. Now what is more civil and English than tea? 
> 
> Another habit of hers is how she gets horny when a man does something that she wants. She's bound to want to fuck Rogers for capturing Charles in a personal fist fight. But ceremonies of civility (taught by her mother) are as much a habit as any other. Just as the stay automatically forces her back and shoulders in the desired posture, the tea ritual demands civil behavior.
> 
> For Rogers the tea represents his dream of domestic happiness. Despite the tea dream of Sarah-Rogers, they failed in acquiring domestic happiness and verbally fought. Rogers reflects on this several times (the little mirror that Eleanor holds up to him). Domestic happiness does not mean - not having disagreements - but being able to resolve them. Hence the resolution of the confrontation and tea are symbolically conjoined.
> 
> Cupid & Psyche: With each of Psyche's impossible and deadly missions given to her by Venus, others volunteer to help her. When she has to go into the underworld and fetch the box of beauty a tower gives her precise instructions on how to survive and succeed. While none of the helpers on these missions appear as Cupid, Venus identifies them as Cupid magically animating or manifesting these helpers. Here Cupid Rogers himself give her the needed guidance and instructions.


	26. A Soul's Kiss

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eleanor has a very strange dream where her mother is upset with her and puts her to work. Both Rogers and Eleanor wake from their first sleep. Having always been told by her enemies what her faults are, she wants to know what her best trait is from Rogers. And as the title implies they share a soul's kiss.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Obligatory warning - explicit love making scene. Despite the explicitness of it, I hope the LOVE comes through! (and it's the final one of this fic)
> 
> Also this is an extra long chapter. I usually keep chapters around 7-9 pages in word. But that would have meant I had to break the love scene in half.

Eleanor’s dreams were restless and dark. “About time, child,” said Mr. Scott’s wife Nani, who was her mother’s servant. Nani stood with her hands on her hips scolding her in front of the house. “Rash and ignorant you are. Do you know how much the whole island has been looking for you?” In the darkness of the night, Eleanor could hardly discern Nani, but her sharp, severe voice and accented English could not be mistaken. The evening star twinkled merrily high above. Nani pointed to the door. “Now go in, for your mother wants you! She’ll teach you how to curb that stubbornness of yours.”

Her mother stood vexed, in her golden dress of vermillion roses and purple shawl. Though she was forever handsome, a black cloud shrouded her brow, and she laughed like a madwoman who glorified in her chance to finally allot her punishment. “What my daughter? Have you finally come to salute your mother? Or is it your man you’ve come looking for? For the moment, he has to mend. But be assured, I will provide for you and give you what you deserve. ” Her mother winked at her.

Eleanor had no idea what she had done wrong. She almost asked, but her mother seemed so enraged and certain that Eleanor knew her own wrong that Eleanor feared denying any wrongdoing. She had done plenty of wrong in her past, had she not?

Her mother snapped her fingers and Mrs. Hudson and Mrs. Mapleton appeared. “Strip her!”

Mrs. Hudson tore the clothes of her back, while Mrs. Mapleton flogged her with a cane. And when Eleanor stood in her chemise, her mother stepped towards her and laid her hand on Eleanor’s belly. “Where will you lie in? How far are you gone? Should Mrs. Hudson start making baby clothes? Am I to be a grandmother now? At my age? And I should feel compassion for you? Shame! Shame! No, it’ll be a bastard, if you have any child at all.”

As punishment her mother took seeds of wheat, barley, corn, chickpeas, lentils and beans and mixed them in one giant heap. “I have to go to a wedding - an actual proper one - but before I’m back, you shall segregate each grain rightly.”

Eleanor stared at the pile of seeds. I will never succeed on time. But Madi and Eme appeared from behind the sable curtain where they had been hiding, and sorted along with her. Next Max entered and bent down to lend two more hands, and then Anne, but also Abigail and Miranda. More and more, neighbours poured into the house,  including the whores - Esther, Alice, Charlotte and even Idelle. With that many hands the task was easily done, and each aid left her until they were all gone.

She awaited her mother’s return with relief. But when that fateful moment came, her mother frowned at the neatly separated piles. Hands on her hips, reeking of wine, her mother looked as if she had partied in the bushes, with twines of myrtle sticking out of her dress and a rose behind her ear. “This is not your handiwork, housekeeper. This was his doing, the one who persists in loving you to yours and his ill. Here’s a crust of bread for your trouble.” Her mother threw the hard crust in front of her feet.

Eleanor picked it up, and starving, she nibbled and sucked on the bread.

“I have another task for you.” Her mother beckoned Eleanor and pointed to a cross on a map. “Fetch me some of that Urca gold. How you do it, I don’t know nor care.”

The gold was stored in a galleon, fitted with guns that roared like lions and stung like scorpions. “I’ll get it for you,” smirked Flint. “I love nothing better than a challenging hunt.” And Charles said to her, “ Don’t worry, I’ll get it for you from Flint.” Silver grinned at her with mischievous blue eyes. “Watch!” he said and spread his arm out to sea. A storm rose to quench the thirst of Neptune’s horses and sent it all onto the beach. Jack waggled his brows. “Now it’s easy. We’ll have all the gold as much as would please your mother.” Featherstone danced on a merry jig, hands high, as he picked the gold hanging like fleece from a briar, and piled it into her apron.

Eleanor dumped the gold at her mother’s feet, but her mother barely looked at it. “You will find no favor from me. I know the author of your success. It is the price for his adultery.” She handed Eleanor a crystal glass. “I am thirsty and desire water from the rivers of oaths and lament. Fill it to the brim. You shall require some of that bravery and wit of yours.”

“You have my word,” said Flint to Miranda, but broke out in tears as he wept with her dead body in his arms. “You have my word,” said Gates to Billy, but wailed as he saw Billy disappear in the waves. “You have my word,” said Anne to Jack and tried to kiss him back to life, sobbing. “You have my word,” said Max to Anne, and bawled broken on her knees. From everywhere, she heard oaths being whispered followed by the bitter bewailing. Eleanor ran with the crystal cup from here to there to catch their tears, until the glass was full.

Her mother cried out. “Impossible! What are you? A witch? Some magician? If that is your business then you may venture straight into hell.” She pointed at her own face that looked as lovely as ever and then at Eleanor. “No daughter of mine would ever be one like you. My daughter would be kind, generous, beautiful and would know how to behave. You stole her from me and took her place instead. So ashamed am I that I dare to go nowhere anymore, for it’s a disgrace. So, you will go down into hell and fetch me the beauty that is guarded by a dragon beast.”

This time no volunteer came forward, and Eleanor had to do it all herself. Down she went, down, down the winding serpentine into the earth, into darkness where the beast lay coiled guarding its treasure with claws, poison dripping from its fangs.

“He will bite and claw to hurt you,” whispered her father, velvety and soft. “Remember that you’re free to walk out. And if you’re trapped, think of tea.”

Eleanor woke, gasping for breath. The room was covered almost in full darkness, except for one candle, burning low on Rogers’ bed stand. It had been a long dream, a strange dream. Though her mother had looked like her mother, she had not acted like her at all. Her mother had never said a stern word to her. _Nani though, and Mrs. Hudson._ And how weird was it that so many of her enemies were helping her, aside from her friends? _Even the dead, even Charles._ No matter how she tried, Eleanor could not make head nor tail from her dream, nor understand whatever she had done wrong to be put to all those tasks.  

She turned on her side and looked at Woodes sleeping. They both were exhausted after they had planned all the particulars of sending Charles to London. “I’m going to shift restlessly,” Woodes said. “I’ll wake you, and I want you to be well rested when you confront Vane.”

“I’ll probably lie awake anyhow,” she told him.

“My injuries will make my own sleep but a light one,” he muttered. “You’ll keep me awake as well then. And I’m flat out exhausted. I need rest to mend.”

“Yes, you’ll sleep lightly, whether I’m here or not,” she insisted stubbornly. “But you can’t even walk by yourself. What if you need something?”

“I can walk!”

“You can limp,” she corrected. “Barely.”

He smirked and she peeked a glance at him. She had bent down to toe off his riding boots. Eleanor had shouldered him to his bed, stripped his trousers, and pulled out his bloodied shirt, while he gritted his teeth and aimed to bear the pain as best as he could. In the light of the single candle burning near the bed, Eleanor saw every bruise and scrape, including near his groin. He pulled the sheet to cover himself and grinned sheepishly at her. “I don’t think I can -”

“That’s not why I’m here, now,” she smiled back, as she began to remove the stomacher, mantua, and petticoat of the dark green dress. She crawled under the sheet, still wearing her chemise, on her side, knees drawn, respecting his space.

Woodes had turned his head around to look at her. “Thank you.”

She had smiled back at him, closing her eyes. “Goodnight, governor.” And she had dropped asleep soon after.

But now, after her first sleep, she was fully awake. Her second sleep would probably delude her for at least another hour. In her own room, she would get up and read something or in her past life she would have wandered into the tavern and talk with customers. Eleanor bent her arm, leaned on her elbow and propped herself up while she studied him sleeping, the rising of his chest with the deep breaths of slumber. Despite the grueling day, Woodes slept peacefully. If he had dreams, they were not bad or strange ones like she had. She wondered whether her dream came about because of her conscious plaguing her for wanting Charles dead, though it did not feel the right answer to her.

Woodes’ remarks about repeating the mistakes of her past ghosted through her mind and she tried to imagine herself as the governess of the island. _How would I have dealt with all the situations of the past two weeks? Poorly!_ Not because she would have tried much differently than him, used other strategies, or had different aims. But she would have lacked a particular oversight and tended to _react_ to situations on impulse rather than _respond_ to them after deliberation. He was right when he repeatedly pointed out she would let her feelings rule her head, and yet she did not believe he felt less strongly about people or situations. She had seen, heard and felt his anger as well as his joy and affections. Woodes had found a way to both feel and even express his emotions, without letting them guide his actions. Eleanor recognized the difference, but she was still mystified how he managed to do that.

Rogers opened his eyes and took a deep breath. He was instantly aware that someone was watching him. “Are you awake?” he asked her.

“Hmhmmm. Did I wake you?”

“No.” His voice was deep and hoarse. His chest and throat itched. “Could you bring me some lemon water?” He felt hot too. “And open the window.” Though he feared that probably would do little good in this climate.

The sheets rustled, sliding against her skin, when she left the bed and the mattress beneath him reverberated. Rogers propped himself up and watched her pad in her chemise through the room. Eleanor returned with a glass in her hand and came to sit on the bedside, next to him. She had cut a slice of lime too. She waited for him to drink and then set it on the bed stand, next to the candle. Her blonde hair was just hanging loose, across her shoulders.

Rogers reached for one of her tresses and let it slide between his fingers. It was fine and silky. “You are beautiful.”

Her smile widened and she met his eyes. Then they went to his neck. “Did Charles do that too?” she asked about the angry red lines around his throat.

“No.” He shook his head. “That was Rackham. He tried to choke me with his chains. Eventually, I elbowed him and punched him out.”

Her eyes trailed back to his face, to the cut on his forehead. “Where did you learn to fight?”

“Dyson taught me my first moves.”

Eleanor’s eyes widened. “Your Dyson?”

“Yes, when I was seven. I trained at boxing and was the school’s champion.”

“Aren’t you full of surprises,” she smirked. Her eyes gained a special sparkle and so did her smile –naughty would have been an apt word to describe it. But she made no move towards him. _Tea, think of tea_ , Eleanor told herself as she felt the familiar pull of letting her desire for him run its natural course. Though they had privacy, and it was the common hour for couples to have intercourse, Eleanor decided not to give in to her impulse that easily. She aimed to resist it. _Later_ , she told herself. _It does not need to be now_. If he had fought Charles like he said he did, he was made of sterner stuff. In her mind there was no doubt that he could perform. Eleanor got up and walked to her side of his bed.

Rogers had half expected her to lean over and kiss him. And when she did not, he felt for a moment disappointed. But then again, his ability to move was restricted. His eyes followed her. When she lifted her chemise and crawled naked under the sheets, hope flared and, despite his bruises and hurts, at least some part of his body still functioned properly. She lay on her side and she rested her hand on his lower arm. While she made no effort to cover herself with the sheet and his eyes were drawn to the delight of her body, she actually had an aura of chasteness about her. And for some reason he found it even more erotic.

Eleanor smiled at him and her finger traced the skin of his arm. “I was thinking earlier about what concerned you to call me your partner. And yet here I lay, your partner. In the light of your fears, what then makes you have at least this much faith in me? Partners bring something to the partnership that the other does not have. Once, you said, you required knowledge. I am not the only one on the island who knows Flint, Max, Jack,  Anne, … So, what do I have, that in your eyes nobody else has that makes you value me?”

Eleanor was not fishing for compliments. Eleanor wanted to understand herself. So often, her enemies had told her their opinion of her in her face – a tyrant, hungry for power, proud, selfish, short-sighted, temptress, manipulative and heartless. She had heard it so many times that she had become to believe it in the end and acted like it too. Weary of reasoning with people, of proving them wrong, it had been far easier to think they were right. And the more she acted like it, of course the more enemies she gained. Woodes was the closest ally she had ever had in her life. He was demanding of her and reminded her of her faults, but he never told her how she must feel or how she must think or even who she really was. He needed the best of her, he had said, and yet, he had never really told her who he believed her best was. Eleanor was not sure anymore who she was at all. She only really ever knew how she felt. _Maybe that is why I am led by my impulses?_

Rogers’ first thoughts were all the things he loved about her and his feelings for her, but he realized that was not exactly what she was asking. _What is the thing that makes me believe in her, not as a lover, nor as an informant? Her instincts?_ _No, he distrusted most of those._ _Something similar, but entirely different._ Once, Rogers realized what it was, he slide smirked and stared deliberately at her breasts. “I want to have a view on those day and night.”

Eleanor looked appalled  and pulled the sheet closer to her body. “I asked you a serious question. I need to know!”

“I won’t tell you!” he grinned. “Unless you come closer, into my arms,” he said with a sugary voice.

“That’s blackmail,” she mocked him, but could not suppress the hint of a smile. “I was trying to have a serious conversation.”

“If I’ll look like this,” he pointed at his face. “And when I am restricted from grabbing you then extortion seems to be my sole recourse. Besides you can’t expect a man to have a serious conversation when you crawl naked into his bed.”

Her smile faltered. “It doesn’t matter to me. You’re still beautiful to me.” She reached out and caressed his cheek with the knuckles of her hand. They stared at one another, and then she lifted her head to kiss him on the lips, as he snaked his good arm around her shoulders. Eleanor put her other hand beside his head to lean on it, so she would not put any of her weight on him.

Rogers smiled against her lips and murmured, “Now I got you where I want you to be.” He opened his mouth to kiss her mouth, caressed her side with his hand until he cupped and massaged her breast.

Eleanor felt her body being swayed by his slow, velvety tongue and the touch of his fingers. She sighed, broke the kiss and whispered, “You promised me you would tell.”

Rogers kissed her throat, her jaw all the way to her neck, her earlobe, making her shiver. Finally, he murmured into her ear, “Your intuition.”

Eleanor opened her eyes. _Intuition!_ It certainly was not even remotely the answer she had expected. Then she furrowed her brow. “How is that different from instinct?”

“The urge to do what we’re doing now is instinct,” he said in between kisses. “Knowing without much feedback how to please one another is intuition.”

She laughed. “There seems nothing wrong with your intuition. Why you need me for then?”

Rogers let go, laid his head back and laughed. He let go of her breast. “Yours is keener.” Then he said seriously. “And it is sharpest when you are concerned for the well being of others. It’s why you know you’re right when everybody else believes you’re wrong. Like when you knew Teach was not here in the bay for Nassau and that he would try something.”

Eleanor tried to think of other examples. “The night that Hornigold informed you of Flint’s death a part of me did not believe it. I had this image of him and his crew marooned somewhere.”

“At least on one point you were right. He’s very much alive.”

“But I’ve been wrong too,” Eleanor reasoned. “I believed that Flint would accept the pardon. And this morning I felt no ill foreboding until Max pointed out to me that Anne would rather have died trying to kill eight dragoons than surrender the cache when Jack was not there, unless she had a plan to get the cache and Jack.”

“Did Chamberlain manage to convince you that all was safe?”

“No!”

“Intuition is not infallible. It does not make you a fortune teller or magician.”

“Intuition,” she mumbled more to herself than to him. She liked it - useful, practical and yet implying being sensitive about the world around her. Maybe some women would have found it disappointing as it was not a romantic quality. But it was honest and only Woodes would have answered it so truthfully.  Eleanor bent over him to kiss him. “Now, let me intuit what might please you.” Her nails trailed down his chest, his belly and under the sheet. Rogers could feel her smile against his cheek when she kissed one of his cuts and her hand wrapped around his shaft. Her lips trailed to his ear, her hand worked magic, and she whispered, “I want to kiss you… here.” She brushed her thumb across the head of his hard cock.

Rogers swallowed and looked at her as she gazed at him with the question in her eyes. He nodded in silence. Eleanor dragged the sheet away, exposing him to the night air. She kissed him on the lips, snaking her tongue inside. Ignoring his stiff muscles, he grabbed the side of her neck to pull her closer so he could return her kiss, moaning approvingly. And when her hand wrapped around the root of his cock, he approved it some more. His heart hammered in his chest as she began her slow descent with teasing lips and tongue. Rogers felt positively queasy with anticipation when she reached his treasure trail. Not in a lifetime, would he had ever dared to ask Eleanor to do this. And yet, now that she had offered, he had no patience. Parched, he licked his lips. “Eleanor, please stop teasing me like that.” He closed his eyes, put his palm across her head and gently pushed her towards his eager awaiting cock.

His impatience delighted her. When she was still young, she had done it to finish Charles, before she allowed him to take her virginity. A penis was something intimidating and weird to her then. After that, it often felt like a chore that she got no pleasure from. Now though, there was nothing strange or daunting about a man’s cock anymore. And Eleanor wanted to compare and please Woodes. Though he pushed her head and mouth towards it, it was more of an encouraging nudge in the right direction. It gave her a sense of sexual power, and with her nose on it she thought again how it was a thing of beauty. She wrapped her hand around it, hovered close and swerved her tongue around to experience the texture.

Rogers shuddered and held his breath. He trembled in her hand and stroked the crown of her head when Eleanor wrapped her lips over the tip and slid them across the ridge. As she experimented with her lips, her tongue and her mouth, his fingers twisted around her hair. His breath halted intermittently, switched to hoarse breathing and an occasional groan or moan. She used the ridge of her teeth, very gently. He jolted and grunted with an involuntarily spasm from his bruised rib. And when she twisted her tongue around him simultaneously, he groaned as if he was both in agony as well as ecstasy. All his awareness of pain withered away into oblivion at the combination of her silky, swiveling tongue, the velvet wet inside of her mouth and her lips rubbing up and down.  His fingers caressed her cheek tenderly, not daring to interrupt her. She took more of him into her mouth, further and further, until she nearly gagged, and he cried out from joy, wrapping his hand over her head and pushing her even further. And then, finally she began to suck. “Gently,” he beseeched her. His toes curled at this delicious torment. He ignored the occasional piercing pain of his side when he jerked involuntarily. Rogers loved pleasing her, but there was a certain delight in both of their full focus bent on his own pleasure. “Oh, Jesus. Don’t ever stop,” he muttered.

At first, Rogers enjoyed everything she tried for the sake of sensation alone, the novelty of it. But slowly and surely his pleasure gathered and aimed for an orgasm. Breathing and sighing heavily, he pushed his hips to indicate a slow rhythm. Closer and closer it beckoned, but remained out of reach. Her tongue, lips and mouth could only do so much. He needed something more. Rogers wrapped his hand around his cock to add the needed friction and speed.

Eleanor knew her main role was over. Her mouth served as a place of delight to receive, but she was free to explore. She cupped his balls in the palm of her hand.

He cried, “Oh, Fuck me!”

She knew it was meant as an exclamation in a state of ecstasy, that he could hardly have been sensible of his words. But eager herself, her inner muscles throbbed to pin herself on Cupid’s arrow and receive his soul inside of her. Eleanor let him go with a pop and sat up. She bent over him, placing her hands beside his head. Woodes’ eyes were squeezed closed and he gritted his teeth, while he still rubbed his shaft to reach his peak.

Finally, Rogers realized her mouth and lips were not indulging him anymore. Confused, he opened his eyes. “Why’d you stop?” He looked into her face hovering over his own. Her eyes were dark, dilated and full of desire. Then he felt her leg against his hips and noticed she intended to straddle him.

Eleanor grinned wickedly at him. “You just ordered me to fuck you.”

“Did I?”

“Hmhmm,” she nodded. “What my governor demands, he gets.” She positioned herself as safely and comfortably as she could, tucking her knees beside his side and then circled her hips in search for him.

For just a moment, Rogers was slightly annoyed at her not completing what she had started when he had been so near. With the aggravation the pinnacle of his pleasure receded. But then Eleanor dipped in and kissed him, convinced him with her tongue, and her mound made contact, nudging and writhing slowly. Even if his mind still lagged behind, his cock recognized its true aim. And as she slid over him, her muscles parting and settling around him, Rogers thought of it as a mouth that kissed him there. Her clenching muscles were like thick luscious lips with the texture of a tongue. While her deeper interior was soft and billowing like a cheek and as snug as a throat. _And how she kissed him!_ Circling, up and down, stroking, slowly and lovingly. He grabbed her by the neck, pulling her to him to kiss her back, lifting his hips, thrusting his tongue and cock, wanting to show her he loved her as much as his flawed angel was loving him now.

Eleanor wanted him to fill her completely, with his cock, his tongue, his mind, his love, his soul and his seed. If she had loved him before, she did more so now, because he trusted in her to know how to do it right, and his thrust touched and pressured her differently, in new ways against that sweet secret spot inside of her. She had to let go of his tongue, placed her hands on the headboard for support and lifted her hips slightly so she could writhe around the bulbous head. His arm went around her back for support to lift himself and take her nipple in his mouth. She gasped and moaned at the soaring joy she felt and Woodes made approving noises while he suckled her breasts.

Now he had even more Eleanor, inside and outside- two mouths and her body near his hands. He reached for her soft breasts, feeling a tightening inside and when her nipples swelled against the palm of his hand. It was not a lie when he told her that a part of him wanted her near him so often for her breasts. Since the day they had been packed and pushed upwardly in a stay, he was always aware of their delightful presence, even though he was too much of a gentleman to outright stare at them. The ever present awareness in the back of his mind of what looked to him as plums ripe for picking, had always put him slightly on edge around her, sharpened him to be at his best behavior around her, almost as if subconsciously he wanted her to choose him for a lover from the very beginning and those breasts would be his. Was it a coincidence that he started to keep her closer on the ship after he saw and heard how other men began to be charmed by her, younger men of good position, income and unmarried? The rascal in him did not want to give any of them even a hint of a chance with her, knowing full well that in the company of the most powerful man on the fleet it was unlikely she would ever have eyes for another.

And he was a rascal. He could not deny how women in London seemed to be delighted with his company – young daughters and pretty wives whose eyes glinted when he talked to them, complimented them, admired them. They would gravitate to him and sigh and whisper in their father or husband’s ear. He had used his ability to charm the women into convincing his contact into helping him either with an investment or a voice of support in Whitehall. It was as if he had been their safe sin, for they knew he was married. Ultimately his design had always been getting the support of the husband or father, so he never crossed that line, even when it was blatantly offered to him at a stroll in the park at the end of a dinner party. He had kissed a woman once, behind a maze’s shrubbery, allowed himself to give in to one delicious kiss. She had dark eyes and dark hair with Spanish roots and passions - a younger wife of one of the much older Admirals who was a stubborn old fool when it came to pardoning pirates. She had begged him to take her there, lifting her skirts for him, and he was very much tempted. Instead he had kissed her neck, sighed and said, “I cannot. We are both married, bound by oaths to God.”

“But you are separated,” she had argued initially.

“And yet I am true to her. She sent me away, I not her.” He had nibbled her ear then. “If it were any different I would give my heart gladly, but it is taken already.”

And with that lie, she had sobbed and bawled in his arms, telling him he deserved some happiness in his life. What a rake he had been to her, breaking that woman’s heart. The next day the Admiral called on him to tell him he could finally agree to Rogers’ plans.

He had desired that Admiral’s wife, but nowhere near as much as Eleanor and her apple breasts that fit in his palms. He certainly had never felt this possessive of a woman. That security of an engagement and marriage he once had with Sarah, he might never have with Eleanor. Now, as she leaned over him, possessing him - body, heart and soul – he massaged the soft, bouncing pillows with his palms and thumbs, relishing the soft, sensitive skin. Exuberance made him shiver with joy when he nuzzled, licked and sucked her nipples into his hot mouth, felt them pucker and bounce against his tongue. He quivered when her areola glands became little bumps and the darker skin crinkled at the touch of his tongue. He loved her breasts. He loved her.

They rocked each other and they kissed one another, and if the mattress creaked and the headboard banged against the wall, they were too focused on each other to notice. Eleanor needed something more though. She leaned on one arm and reached with her hand between her legs to rub her little hard knob pulsing in need. It was not a position she could hold for long without cramping her arm, and he was too fragile to rest on him. “Help me!” she whispered in anguish.

He let go of her nipple. “How?”

“Some pressure, just outside,” she gasped. His eyes trailed her arm and he moved his hand downwards, slid his fingers between her legs, close to where he was thrusting inside of her. Then he found her pearl and began to rub it lightly. Eleanor bit her lower lip, while she suppressed a gasp and closed her eyes. “Oh, yes.” And then she began to move her hips. Slowly she danced on the tips of his fingers at first, increasing the pace gradually and came down on him harder and deeper.

He watched her face transfuse with delight, as she swung her head up, bit her lower lip, gasped and moaned, until he too had to close his eyes, rejoining the waves of pleasure that thrilled his cock, his balls and his soul. With every rock of her hips and each of his thrusts he loved her more and more. He clenched his muscles of his hips to meet her, strained his fingers hard against her sweet little pearl. Her gasps became small, short cries. He felt hot as if his blood was boiling. Every stroke of her slick muscles brought him closer to the edge, tickling his head. His balls were reaching a state of overdosing bliss, demanding celebrating release. “Sweet Jesus! Eleanor, I - you.” It burned on his tongue and lips. “I – Oh, I want to come inside you,” he begged her. “Please come!”

She clenched her arms that held the headboard, tightened the muscles of her thighs and calves, crying, “Yes! Harder!” She was so close. She just needed a little more pressure. She strained and clenched and reached and then there was the peak of pleasure that infused her pearl before it exploded and shattered throughout her body, expanding through her cleft in convulsing waves, just as his soul raced through his cock to dance in her womb. He cried out hoarsely at the sensation of her sucking him in, as he gunned more of his soul into her. Her moan of satisfaction was both high pitched and deep. Something fell to the floor. Then the light went out.

Trembling, Rogers felt as if a carriage of love had fallen onto him, smashed him and broke every one of his ribs. Love hit him like a ton of bricks. He so wanted to say it, desperately almost. He felt like she could turn him into her beggar of love. But it was exactly this that he dared not yet let her know.

Eleanor began to weep in convulsions of release. “I love you, Woodes,” she sobbed as if it hurt her. “Oh, you can’t know how much I love you.” She wanted to keep him inside her, forever, or at least a piece of him.

He gasped for air under all that pressure of both their loves. “Come back to me, tomorrow, Eleanor. Promise me.”

“I give you my word.”

Stroking her cheek, he kissed her, lovingly and gently, in the darkness of the night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Psyche's missions: the dream is an adaptation of Venus's tasks. Three of Psyche's four tasks are deadly: golden wool of the deadly sheep, the water from the Styx and Cocytis, the box of beauty. With each task helpers appear to do the task for her or to give her advice: ants, reed, Jupiter's eagle and a tower. They think Venus's anger with Psyche is unjust and that she's cruel to Psyche for nothing. Venus never accepts the results, and believes Cupid's love for her causes her to do the impossible. In Eleanor's dream, the Maroon Queen, Mrs. Mapleton and Mrs. Hudson are the three servants of Venus: Custom, Solitude and Care respectively. Venus is described to laugh like Mr. Evil when Psyche arrives in her house. Venus's hatred and cruelty for Psyche seems to contradict her being the embodiment of love. Hence, why Eleanor's mother stands as Venus here. While Eleanor is not blameless in the past, she is not so evil she deserves any such cruelty either. All her enemies become the helpers. The women help her with the seeds. The pirates help her with the gold. And their tears over their own broken vows to each other serve as water from the Styx and Cocytus. Basically it suggests that Eleanor already performed those "missions", where her enemies did it for her. To contrast the strangeness of her cruel mother, her father (for once) is the one who advizes her like the tower, but using the words of Rogers.
> 
> Since Psyche ends up opening the box of beauty for herself in the hope to win Cupid's love back, I have Eleanor's mother order her to fetch/rescue herself from the underworld. Her mother is angry with the Eleanor who's at the bottom of the bloody ocean of Othello hatred. Her mother wants Eleanor to become the woman she always wanted her to be. It points to an identity crisis. In a way, the dream functions as contrast to Mrs. Mapleton's claim that Eleanor wears new clothes and has new friends, but has not changed much (which Eleanor would consider unfair). Mrs. Mapleton also claims that Eleanor can only understand herself through the eyes of enemies. I contrast this, by having Eleanor ask her lover what he sees in her.
> 
> Soul's Kiss: the "kiss" is a euphemism for "making love". A man in love who gets a heartfelt blow job from his lover tends to acquire happy, shiny eyes the day after. The cold love declaration of 3x08 and Rogers' in-love eyes when she returns from her visit with Vane, suggest something happend between them off-screen to make him completely smitten with her. Rogers compares the actual intercourse to being kissed. The candle falling to the floor and snuffing out alludes to the wounding of Cupid, which happens after the soul kiss. The description of Psyche's soul kiss at least leads to Psyche kissing Cupid on top of him. This fits the image of Eleanor standing at the governing side of the desk. Eleanor is the one with the power here, in both halves of the "kiss". I also used the "thrusting/trusting" wordplay (again). 
> 
> Breast or buttocks: Some men get turned on especially by a woman's ass, others by a woman's breasts. Rogers is a breast-guy (the 3x07 shudder moment when the top comes off). It leads back in to some of his London past, where he turns out to have been quite the charmer and heartbreaker (like Cupid) - both are rascals.
> 
> I - You: He almost said it. I originally had written he feels he could become her slave for her love, but Vane is the "slave", while Rogers is the "beggar".


	27. The Beast

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eleanor journeys to Fort Nassau, for the very first time since her father was crucified there, and ends up confronting Charles Vane about the murder. As the ugly truth is revealed, Eleanor renders her personal judgment of Charles and makes peace with her father's ghost. (includes Charles' POV)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warning: to acts of violence and explicit language

On her way to the Fort the next day, Eleanor felt the unwelcome dread in her rise. The weather was grey and overcast, adding to a sense of foreboding. Eleanor had avoided Fort Nassau, since her return, for there were too many ghosts in there for her. But now she had to go into a dirty, dank cell, and confront the very man she loathed but allowed to fuck her in there.

Halfway, she had to cross a small natural rivulet of brackish and undrinkable water that streamed into the bay. Normally one could wade through in boots and have the water barely came to the ankles. But last night’s rain had even submerged the stepping stones. There was no way she would manage to cross without wetting and muddying her stockings, shoes and petticoat. In the past, she would not have cared one jot about it, but she had to be a civilized lady in front of Charles. She even put on her best shoes. If her attire ended up stained, that bode ill for the rest of her behavior in his cell.

An older former pirate Khar (of Captain Throckmorton’s crew) had just moored near the crossing with a skiff, helping visitors from the interior that he had ferried to Nassau on land. He had flashing grey eyes, and his beard was long and unkempt. Noticing her predicament, Khar waded upriver and grinned at her. “Allow me, Miss Guthrie.”

Before she could protest, the rough seaman in his reddish-brown justaucorps lifted her in his arms and carried her across. When she was safe and dry on the other side, she gave him a penny for his gallantry. “Thank you, Khar.”

“I’ll probably still be here, when you return, miss. Or one of my colleagues coming in with the Misses Memory may help you,” Khar told her and lifted his stained tricorne hat at her.

The fort lay on top of a hill, outside of town - a looming, brooding, inaccessible rock of three walls thick, throwing a shadow across her heart. The red waves started to crash into her again, and she clutched the paper in her hands. Three big mangy stray dogs followed their nose along the path up the hill. When she passed they looked up, barked and barred their teeth at her, standing protectively over a kill. Whatever animal it used to be was impossible to discern, except that it once had been furry. It was just bones, blood and leftover fluff now. Eleanor shuddered, while her escorts stamped the soil to shoo the dogs away from her.

Her escort knocked on the old and gnarled wooden gate. Despite it showing signs of wear, tear and being shot at, it still was sturdy and solid. The little hatch inside the door opened like a window and a man’s face appeared. The patch over his eye revealed the man had seen battle somewhere already. The hatch closed and the bar and lock were taken from the gate. It swung open, whining and crying on the rusty hinges.

A captain with tanned face and icy blue eyes came forward, from what seemed to be the improvised mess. Somehow, she had not seen him before on the ships or patrols. His features were severe and stiff. He wore a grey haired bag wig, rather than a white or brown one. His noble mien could have been called handsome and he might even be younger than Woodes, but he looked as if he had never smiled and instead his sour face was stamped on his features to last forever. He frowned at her. “What is your business here?”

“I am here to see the captive pirate,” she said, with as much authority she could put into her own voice. She gave the governor’s letter to him. She had written it, but Woodes had signed and sealed it.

Warily, the captain took his time in reading it, looked at her, at his younger colleagues that were her escort. “Follow me, M’am,” he said coolly.

A drill exercise was being performed in the courtyard. Woodes had told her that after Vane’s capture he ordered extra guards at the fort so that it would total fifty. For the first time since they found her father there, Eleanor saw the courtyard again. Her father had already been taken down, when they informed her of his death. She looked away from the place where his cross had been, and closed her eyes for a moment. She wanted to forget that haunting image. The captain led her to a side door, opened it and grabbed a torch.

Nervous, she straightened her frock and her stomacher, before she followed the captain inside the fort, into the narrow corridors, black as the night. Even the torches and their light seemed to be swallowed up by the shadows. The tropical damp air trapped inside weighed on her breath. It smelled of moist, rotten earth inside. They went left, right, left and left again, up and down, and then down some more on serpentine stairs. Eleanor used to know her way in the fort, but now she felt as if being led into a maze where every wrong turn would be a dead end.

The captain was not wholly unfriendly. “The previous one was much tamer, more polite and friendlier,” he commented during the long, hazy way to Charles’ cell. “When they dragged Vane in here yesterday, we needed several men to subdue him, and he knocked some of my men a blue eye. He’s powerful like a beast. So, we put him in chains, hands and feet. Though he has mobility, the chains at his feet are attached to a ring on the wall. He roared and raged all night. But he has been sullen and passive since this morning. So, I think you can see him safely, M’am. We have two guards outside for extra precaution. If he tries anything, just yell for them.” The captain pointed to the other end of the hallway. “His cell is at the end.”

 _He can’t hurt me_ , she told herself. _He’s in chains. And he certainly won’t get to fuck me ever again._ _All he has are words_ , she reminded herself. _No matter how venomous, they cannot hurt me if I don’t allow it._ She straightened her back and marched to the cell, the heels of her lady’s shoes echoing across the stones of the corridor, her frock swinging and rustling. _It is not me who is the captive in that cell. I will not hang. He will_. The guards greeted her and unlocked the door. _Tea! Tea! Tea!_ Eleanor recited to herself, closing her eyes, and then opened them, feeling calm, like the eye of a tempest, before she stepped inside and the door was locked behind her.

There he sat - _the murderer, that fiend_ – on a stone seat in the beam of daylight falling into the naked cell. First he looked at her, but as soon as he recognized her, Charles looked away, at his fiddling fingers, hunched over. She had once thought him handsome, sexy and hot. But now she saw a vile troll, an abhorred slave in which no goodness could ever take, capable of all ill, a thing most brutish. And so this place, that he had stolen from Hornigold while he longed for the sea, and that made him believe he was king of the island, was now his prison cell – a far more decent one than the one he had imprisoned Abigail in, clean at least and allowing for light. England treated him better than he had treated other human beings who never did him any wrong. _Look he even has a table to write_. And yet she knew he would not care for that. It would be the chains that bothered him. _Well, he deserves to be confined into this cave, into this rock. No one belongs to be put in a prison cell left to rot more than him._ Except, he would not be left here, forgotten and left to decay.

When Charles heard the door being unlocked he had expected to see a gloating governor. But as soon as he recognized Eleanor entering, he looked away. Though he hated her for betraying him for Flint and England, his heart still skipped a beat whenever he saw her. She always had that effect on him, making him feel things he felt for nobody else, nervous and weak in the knees. He had avoided having a glimpse of her since he arrived back on the island two days ago, staying in hiding in one of the beach huts the first night. And yet, he had been moved into complete silence, when he saw her in a blue petticoat standing in the surf, picking up shells and watching the sunset. She was unaware that anyone was watching her, and thus unguarded and free in her behavior. He saw the old Eleanor then, and he had smirked to himself, thinking, “The new governor does not know who and what he has taken in his bed. He’s no match for her. She has him wrapped around her little, pretty finger.”

Charles was certain that Eleanor fucked the governor since he saw her on the _Delicia,_ walking towards the governor and then disappear with him together into the hull. _Why else would she be wearing all those fancy dresses while those clothes were not her? Why else would the man dress her up in a mantua and petticoat? Why else would he smile at her?_ He had been able to resist the image, though he cursed her as the whore and thief that she was, when he escaped with Edward, reminding himself that the governor had excluded him from the pardon to please his lover, that she flaunted herself on the deck to provoke him into making a mistake. He was going to start a new pirate life, away from Nassau, away from her, free to fuck, steal and murder whomever he wished, free from niceties, burdens and possessions. He had looked forward to Ocracoke, grateful of the chance Edward had given him.

But he had read the Spanish spy reports on the governor, knew that the Urca gold exchanged into gems and pearls was the governor’s weakness. How not returning it would get the Spanish to raze Nassau. And then whenever he closed his eyes in his hammock on the way to Ocracoke he was in hell imagining that handsome man in fancy clothes fuck Eleanor. The image of her lying on her back, mouth half open, face alight with ecstasy, breasts bumping up and down and calling that man’s name when she came ate at his very soul. It just was not right. Eleanor belonged to him and only him. She had given her maidenhood to him. She should be crying out his name. _I hope she does, by accident sometimes_ , he had thought in pain and agony.

He wanted to stand by his honor with Edward when Flint appeared from the dead at Ocracoke, just as Eleanor had come back from the dead. But as Edward was about to kill Flint, he remembered Eleanor telling him in his opium haze that he could take the island from her and her anytime he wanted to. All Charles needed to do was actually do it. And so, in a split second he came between Edward and Flint, saved Flint’s life and sailed off with him to the Maroon island and Nassau. And then when the English were lured to the Maroon island, killed off, and the Spanish sailed for Nassau, he would kill the governor personally and save her, like he had saved Flint in Charleston.

It needed to be done all in secret though. He had to take it all first, before revealing himself to Eleanor, just as when he took Fort Nassau from Hornigold. That was the only way she would stop resisting the truth that they were made for each other. It was this knowledge that enabled him to just spy on her from his hiding place that evening on the beach. But that goddamn governor was made of hard ebony, made of sterner stuff beneath his fancy clothes, not a wimp like Richard Guthrie. Still, Charles was stronger, and even when he saw the cavalry come to the governor’s aid and knew he would be caught, Charles had to resist for as long as he could so that Anne could get away with Jack and Flint with the cache. He was tempted to kill the governor right then and there. He could have snapped his neck if he wanted to. But with the governor alive, chances were higher they would let the others run and help the governor back. So, instead he enjoyed rebuilding the governor’s handsome face into a ruin. _Let Eleanor fuck that beat up face tonight_ , he had thought, _and be reminded that I left my mark on him_. Well, if there was any fucking done that night, given the fact that he had hit the governor right in the groin too. Admittedly, Charles had enjoyed raping Max for similar reasons. Eleanor paid money to have her exclusively for herself. Max had believed she could two-time him and win Eleanor’s love all to herself. But if Eleanor would ever find Max, she would know he had put his cock in every hole. Of course, he ended up regretting doing that afterwards.

Regardless, he was caught and Eleanor was here, only a few feet away from him, looking daggers, making him weak in the knees. He hated feeling soft and weak, least of all her knowing it. Slowly, Charles turned his head and looked at her.

Eleanor took a deep breath and unfolded the paper. “I, Charles Vane, do hereby plead guilty to the charges of treason and high seas piracy.”

At a distance, she stood fierce and severe near the door. He did not buy that calm, cold English exterior of a proper lady. Eleanor was no lady. She was special, and wherever she walked she seemed to be made of a different matter than other people. It was as if the light sought her to distinguish her from anybody else. And she was hot and temperamental.

Eleanor continued to read aloud. “I understand that the sentence for my crimes is to be hanged by the neck until dead.” She looked up from the letter and to him, wanting him to know that he would die, that she wanted him dead. There would be no deal for him, no reprieve, no pardon. She looked back down at the paper and continued to read it aloud. “It is my hope that in exchange for this plea I might be spared the humiliation of a public trial, and that my execution be carried out privately and mercifully.” That was all he could get out of it, a merciful and private death. She had done it, read the verdict like the judge in court once did for her. Woodes could be proud of her, so far. Stiffly she strolled to the desk and dropped the plea onto the desk. She faced him. "At noon tomorrow, you'll be transported under guard to the bay, where you'll be boarded onto the _Shark_ and sent to London to face a Court of the Admiralty.”

Woodes had loathed to part with one of the HMS ships while they were on the verge of a possible war with Flint, perhaps Teach, maybe even Spain – at worst all three of them at once. Eleanor had expected he’d use the _Gloucestershire_ for it. But since Charles was not yet convicted and the risk of the ship carrying him to England being attacked was too great it had to be a ship of the Royal Navy, with enough guns to defend itself and the right to judge and sentence a prisoner on sea if must needs. The _Shark_ was the smallest of the navy’s ships, with the fewest guns.

Eleanor took a small step into his direction and lowered her eyes, softening her voice. “Agree to this plea, and the governor will endorse it. We'll see to it that it is heard favorably and your experience in London will be short and dignified.” It made her feel better to offer the mercy, to promote it. But she spoke severely, when she added, “Refuse to sign it, and your experience will be anything but.”

Charles suppressed a chuckle at her saying that she would make sure it would be heard favorably. He furrowed his brow. “You came all the way down here to ask me to beg for mercy?” His familiar hoarse voice almost made her reel. Eleanor had once thought his voice sexy, special, unique. It grated her ears now. And yet it did something to her system, to her brain when she heard it. It was a voice she had known for eight long years, one that her body knew too well. “What a fantasy this must have been for you. Well, even if I did sign that, we both know how empty the victory would be, seeing as you don't give a shit about my piracy or my treason.” Hearing him speak, seeing his face move. The years all came back to her. “The only crime of mine that angers you is the one that no one else cared enough about to even call a crime. Am I wrong? Is the murder of Richard Guthrie mentioned anywhere on that page?”

 _He‘s doing it all over again. He never really listened to me, did he?_ Once she had berated him for missing the meeting of the consortium. _What had he said?_ “The woman who stole ship and crew out from underneath me has no appetite for any of that. I think that's why you're so frustrated with me... because you know all this, because you know I know this, and because you know you are so much more like me than anyone you've ever met in your entire life.” He was always ready with his opinions of her, telling her what he believed she was thinking. And he was always wrong about her. He had made up this imaginary Eleanor who was his female twin who wished the wild freedom he always talked of, his lioness. And whenever she did something that was the opposite of what he believed about her, he would come up with this contrived “I know, you know” bullshit.

And now he was patronizing her again. _He never knew me at all!_ _No, I did not fantasize about you, period, only your death._ If it had been up to her last night, she would not have given him mercy. Still, she had done as Woodes wanted and when doing it, she felt good, felt that Woodes was right in making her do so. She could make peace with a merciful death for Charles. “You fucking coward,” she whispered bitterly. Here she was offering him mercy, but all he could do was twist the knife even further. She stepped towards him, towering over him, hands hanging beside her for he deserved no stance of respect from her. “When Charles Vane takes something from a man, he looks him in the eye and gives him a chance to deny him.” She crinkled her nose in disgust. “It's all bullshit. It was always bullshit.”

Now, Charles saw more of that real Eleanor returning, not that fake English bitch who cited some pretty words about him begging for mercy. She stood closer. _I still affect her._ And she affected him. He could smell her, like a breeze of fresh air, of the sea, waves and the beach, womanly.

Eleanor could not possibly hold in her rage about her father’s murder anymore. “You stole my father from me in the dead of night like a rank fucking cutpurse,” she spat. “And you did it because you weren't man enough to face me, to show yourself.” She could not hide the pain either. “So you found the lowest, cruelest, weakest deed imaginable and acted it out upon an innocent man with whom you had no quarrel, knowing that I had finally begun to build something with him, that I was finally able to see the good in him.”

“He was a shit,” Charles said callously. _She is such a liar. Her father never cared about her. Hell, she hated Richard for years._ Richard would never have lifted a finger against Ned Low. Ned Low could have murdered her and Richard Guthrie would have done business with his daughter’s killer. But he had killed that madman with his own hands, for her.

Eleanor stared appalled at him. “What did you just say?” she gasped.

Charles rolled his eyes. “He was a cowardly, selfish, treacherous shit who cared only for himself and for you not at all.” Eleanor was truly shocked, shaking, that he could not even admit to her he had done it to avenge himself on her. No, he tried to blame her father, as if he did her some favor. “You know this. All your life you knew this,” he told her. His icy eyes pierced her like needles. He was actually smirking. “Then suddenly he walks back through your door, tells you he can give you all of the things you want, tells you I'm your enemy, and, just like that, his love is sacred and mine is a inconvenient obstacle to your ambitions.”

Inadvertently, Eleanor shook her head lightly at this. _Is he mad? Does he truly believe that if he murdered my father that I would love him for it?_

Charles chuckled. “The life cycle of your affections - a man you love who speaks the truth shunted aside in favor of the next who will tell you whatever you want to hear.” And he was not solely implying Richard Guthrie. _Eleanor loves me._ Charles was sure of it. _Not that governor, who no doubt whispers compliments and lies in her ear all the time._

 _A man I love_ , echoed inside of her skull. It instantly brought Woodes to mind. _He will not be silent and say, yes please,_ she heard Woodes warn her. _He will use words to goad you, to hurt you, to keep you there._ _Charles is the prisoner. Not me. I can walk out of here. I’m free to leave whenever I want._ Now that she knew his reason, his twisted mad belief that he did it for love, that she only had turned to her father for ambition or to hear pretty things - she had no other word for it than that he was outright pathetic. “Goodbye, Charles.” She turned away from him and walked towards the door.

Just as she reached for the handle, Charles said, “He betrayed you, Eleanor.” She froze and listened. “When my men brought him to me first, he begged for mercy. Then he promised to make me rich.”

Yes, initially Charles wanted to go after her. His men were bloodthirsty enough for it. But he could not. So, he ordered them to catch her father for him, knowing it would hurt her, anger her if he took from her who she loved, as well as hamper her contacts with the interior farmers. As Richard begged for mercy while Charles had not even touched the man, he saw it so clearly suddenly. _The man is weak. Such weakness does not even deserve to live. In the wild, Richard would be some weaker, inferior grazer, too slow and too fragile to live for long, except to be a lion’s meal. How can a weak man like that father a daughter as strong and wild as Eleanor?_ _Fathers are always the problem, aren’t they? Richard never even recognized how special Eleanor was and wanted to keep her as weak as himself, just like Albinus tried to keep me weak_. And Eleanor allowed it, craving for a man’s love who could never appreciate who she truly was. And so he tortured him for hours, instead of outright killing him, to show Richard what a weak, undeserving lowlife he truly was.

As Charles revealed that her father had begged, Eleanor imagined what she had attempted not to picture at all - her father dragged in front of pirates, tortured with hot irons, hammers breaking his fingers, ankles, knees. Her father was no fighter, no hero, not even all that mentally strong to withstand any kind of torture for long. Her father had been a weak man, but he was her father. _Of course he begged for mercy. Of course he promised him money._ She squeezed her eyes shut, not wanting to hear her father plead as she knew he would have.

“But when he realized neither had any effect, he promised to deliver you to me. Promised to exchange your life for his.”

When that blubbering coward offered to give him Eleanor, Charles had laughed in Richard’s bleeding and broken face. “You? You will give me your daughter?” It had been too funny. “You don’t even deserve a daughter like that, let alone give her away. The insult alone. Hahahaha.” Right before he broke the man’s neck in a rage, he whispered to him, “I don’t ask for what is mine. I take it!”

Something snapped inside Eleanor. She saw red, only red! _My father a traitor, because he offered me under torture?_ _Is that Charles’ evidence? He has to ruin and defile even the memory of my father, drag me through the imagination of it for this?_

“That is who your father was, Eleanor. And you know it's true.”

Eleanor had whirled around, stepped towards him and like an avenging fury smashed her fist in his face with all the might she had in her. _You had no right! No right at all!_ Then she swung her other fist into him, crying out in anger and rage. She grabbed him by the neck and knuckled him several more times. He did not even fight back. She grabbed his throat. _I _can do it.__ _She wanted to do it, to squeeze her hands around his neck and throttle him._

They had fought before, but this – this was different. Charles felt her desire to kill him, all her hatred for him in each and every punch. He bore it, because she was with him now, touching him, close. _Fighting or fucking. Fucking or fighting._ When it came to her, there was little difference. He wanted to die. Better to die by her hand, here in the fort where he had fucked her, than some noose in some strange country, and she would be forever his in mind and heart, in hell, together, forever. She was the sole person who was his match, the sole one who had the right to kill him.

But then Eleanor could not look at his despicable face for one more second. She did not even want to touch him anymore. He was that vile to her. He stank of piss and blood, sour sweat, of sunburned salt on the waves mixed with sand. A smell that was familiar to her, too familiar, and that repulsed her now - rank, stale, decaying. She roared in his face, in frustration and anger, because she hated him so much that she could not even strangle him. She recoiled into a dark corner and shrieked all her anger, frustration and pain out of her body against the wall, feeling trapped and imprisoned with him in a black hell of human darkness, until she had no breath anymore.

Leaning her hand against the wall for support, she gasped and sucked in a breath of life. Eleanor reeled on her feet, and came back to some level of reason. _Tea! When you are trapped in there with him, think of tea!_ She remembered her mother pouring tea for her father and how her father looked at her mother with love and admiration. _Like Woodes looked at me yesterday evening._ Whatever her father was – weak, cowardly, corrupt - he had loved her mother. Her father had been a good man, a decent man. Her mother’s death had broken him as much as it had damaged her, and for years they had dealt with the grief differently. Him in a house at Harbour Island that resembled the dream-house he talked of over tea to her mother, free from pirates – all very English, civilized and proper. Amidst the pirates, Eleanor had tried to do the same by making Nassau a place her mother would have been proud of. In the end, her father had recognized they shared the same pain and goal. Charles could never comprehend that. He had never known a mother or a father, a parentless slave child in a world of cruel men who were no better than beasts. “You're not a man,” she said, hoarse. She was tired, empty. “You're deformed. Unformed. Flesh, bone, and bile, and missing all that which takes shape through a mother's love.”

His head low, Charles heard her. She was real then. Her voice was too raw with emotion. And it shook him. He lifted his head and leaned against the wet and cold, stone pillar behind him, catching his breath. _A mother? I never had any mother._ A woman had birthed him. She had no face nor a first name. She died giving birth to him on a convict ship sent to the Americas. All he knew of her was that her last name was Vane and that she had named him Charles, like the king. It only showed that she had been an ignorant woman, since the Puritans of the colonies supported a rebellion against Charles II, who made his Catholic brother heir. _What does a mother have to do with it at all?_

Disbelieving that a man could be that mad, Eleanor shook her head and chuckled at the craziness of it. “You cannot comprehend what you took from me or why it was good, because there is no goodness in you.” Eleanor spoke softly, grief stricken, and Charles sagged his head, feeling his heart of fragile glass break into a thousand pieces. “There is no humanity in you, no capacity for compromise, nor instinct toward repair, nor progress. Nor forgiveness.”

The last she had said almost so angelic, that Charles was compelled to look at her. While, he had forgiven her betrayal, perhaps for the first time he realized why she could not see that. In that moment, he did not see a peerless fighter or a nature’s child, but a quiet, gentle soul who valued harmony, who aspired to all those things in herself and the people around her. This was the light and specialness he had seen, that of an angelic mother, but never recognized for what it was, because he was born from darkness.

She turned around and could finally face him again. “You are an animal.” Eleanor knew that Charles believed he loved her. And in that moment she could admit that Charles probably did feel an instinct to bond with her and keep her around, protect her, kill any rival. She could see he would call it love, for lack of knowing what love actually was. Love made people empathize, compromise, work together to build a better future, and forgive. It inspired people to be a better person and to think and feel for two. _Charles never truly loved me, nor I him, for I cannot forgive him_. Charles never had been raised to comprehend it. But she had been raised to love truly, by her mother. She had found her true love, but he was not here in this cell. 

“Nassau is moving on from you, and so am I.” She spared him not another look or chance to speak to her and walked to the door, as he saw that judging angel leave him forever alone in the darkness, while she would return to the light. Eleanor knocked and said trembling, “Open up!” to the guard behind the door.

Eleanor was still shaking, feeling raw and emotional, as she was guided back to the courtyard by the guard. He smiled sympathetically to her, holding the torch for her. As Eleanor came out into the glaring light she had to shield her eyes for a moment after emerging from the darkness. She looked in the direction where her father’s cross had been. This time, she decided to walk over and commemorate his memory, the old memories with her mother, and the last one when he held her, when she could lean on him and lay her head on his shoulder and imagine a better future for Nassau.

Silent tears rolled down her cheeks. _I’m so sorry, father. I was blind, believing him to be a better man than he ever was, ever could be._ Eleanor could not stop her tears even if she wanted to, though she sniffed her nose and rubbed them away with the back of her hand. To the ghostly memory of him, she whispered, “It’s here, father. The future mother and you wished for has come, in the shape of a great man, a good man. And I’m helping him. You would be proud of me. I love him. I love you. I forgive you.”

“Will you be alright, M’am?” The icy looking captain appeared behind her, looking at her with worry knotted into his brow.

“Yes, thank you,” she smiled at him.

“Could we provide you with something, some relief?" She shook her head. "Truly, you look shaken, as if you have seen a ghost.”

She snuffled her nose once more and inhaled for breath, while smiling at the man. “Perhaps I did see one, or two.”

He looked strangely at her for a moment, before telling her, “I must inform you that a messenger came earlier to beg for your return as soon as possible. But you were already inside with the prisoner when the message arrived and seemed too distraught a moment ago to interrupt.”

“I will leave at once, Captain. Thank you, for your concern and allowing me some privacy earlier.”

The captain stared at the spot that she had been looking at for a moment. “I do not mean to pry, miss, but you mentioned two ghosts.”

“My father was murdered here, Captain. I was saying my farewell to him, making my peace with it.” As she said it, Eleanor realized she had made her peace with him being dead and gone, finally. Her father was not a specter raging for revenge, but at peace with the woman he loved, with her mother. She saw them drinking tea together in her mind. _Goodbye father_ , she thought, and hurried to the gate where her escort waited for her. “Let us get back.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Underworld journey = Eleanor's journey to Fort Nassau. The river with the help of ferryman Khar, alludes to the Achethon, Charon, and the obol the soul has to pay for the crossing. Brackish water is undrinkable and no environment for life. Eleanor pays a penny instead of obol. The three mangy stray dogs stand for the three-headed hellhound Cerberus who eat his victim (souls trying to escape) until there's nothing left but bones. The distance from Fort Nassau to the rivulet, and from the rivulet to Nassau market square matches that of the distance between heaven (Olympus) and Tartarus (lowest section of the underworld and prison of criminal souls). Tartarus is a fortress with three walls, in which once the Cyclopses were imprisoned, hence the guard at the door has an eyepatch. The captain resembles the ruler of the underworld, Hades (though no beard): handsome, noble, dark tanned, severe and cold looking, looking older than his years. While Hades is feared (naturally), his severeity has to do with strictness, not lack of empathy. The Hekatonkheires (3 giants) guarded Tartarus. Their name means hundred-handed-ones. They had 50 "heads" and 100 "hands". So, when Rogers ups the guards in the fort to 50, there are "50 heads and 100 hands" guarding the fort. She's offered "refreshment", but living visitors must refuse to drink or eat. Otherwise they are bound to stay there forever. Other allusions to concepts related to death or underworld: cold, suffocating, darkness, night, black, forgotten, dead end, rotting, soil, hell, ghosts, ...
> 
> Tempest's Caliban: 1st chapter refers to Charles Vane as Caliban, the slave creature whose mother died at birth and who was raised by Prospero to no avail. Caliban is intelligent but a base figure with low aims. After trying to rape Miranda, he's put in a "rock/cave" as his prison. Caliban wants to take Prospero's island, using unsavory arrivals. His mother was some evil witch, while his father is said to be the Devil (according to Prospero). Vane's seating, posture, portrayal and Eleanor's final judgment of him in the 3x09 scene together with his slave background, the murder of Eleanor's father, their affair, his alliance with Eleanor's enemies are easily made into an anology. Eleanor's first thoughts of him being troll-like when she sees him are adapted from Prospero's speech about Caliban.
> 
> Victim-murderer confrontation: the 3x09 scene is a therapeutic confrontation of victim versus criminal to learn his motive and cathartic chance for the victim to tell the criminal how they hurt the victim. One of the reasons I made Eleanor a non-Christian deïst and Rogers a Christian deïst, is that the latter would tend to lean to "forgiving the criminal", whereas Eleanor does not forgive Vane. She makes her peace with her dead father instead. Some crimes or betrayals cannot be forgotten nor forgiven, when the violator is unrepentant. Pity, mercy and avoidance can achieve a similar healing result.
> 
> Father-mother: Charles liberates himself by killing Albinus, his devilish father figure. Charles saved/rescued Eleanor by killing Ned Low. Charles' motive aimed to liberate/rescue Eleanor from her father. Though a coward and weak, Eleanor's father was not an Albinus nor Ned Low. Charles makes an anology that does not hold up. The key is the mother. She's the glue that binds Eleanor and Richard, and a part of Eleanor. Him never having a mother is what makes him blind to her dead mother's influence. It's not the father that's her isue, but the mother who's her solution.
> 
> Trauma-bonding: Their relation is that of a trauma-bond, very strong hormonal addiction. Pain and abuse form a bond that is as strong or stronger than love and the major reason why abuse victims return to the abuser. It compels people to behave in a way they don't want to, and might even be OOC. Hence, Eleanor's brain is affected by his voice. The sole remedy is 'no contact'. Eleanor sees Vane more and more in a manner that enables her to separate from him, after a period of separation such as her recovery period from her abortion, the break-up, and being away from the island. It lifts the "fog" such a relationshit creates in the brain. In order to re-establish the trauma-bond and overcome the separation the other partner increases the violence to trigger trauma feelings.


	28. Magic

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eleanor returns to the mansion and learns that Rogers has collapsed and is sick with fever like the men in the sick-bay. Rogers appoints her as the liaison between everybody else and himself, while he convalesces, which does not go well with his men of the Royal Navy. He sends Eleanor on a mission to make her peace with Commodore Chamberlain. Eleanor begins to realize that the English are dying around her at a high rate. When she finally gets back to Rogers they discuss Psyche's trials, Venus's anger and love.

Wanting to avoid a repeat of the debacle of being carried across the rivulet in the arms of a former pirate, Eleanor returned to the market square via the longer inland way, where the water simply ran underground. When the mansion finally came in sight, it almost felt like coming home. _It is home_. It felt good to see it, to walk into the hallway. She almost felt normal again, almost.

While Eleanor anticipated Woodes to be working from his apartment, she still expected more men downstairs and found it unusually quiet. _Where is everybody?_ Still, plenty of men made a deal out of looking important while running up and down the stairs. The corridor to his office was uncommonly crowded. _What is going on?_ _Did Hornigold come back?_ But she had not noticed his ship in the bay. _Has Spain been sighted to set sail yet from Havana?_ She walked in, expecting him to greet her from his office chair with an eager smile. Instead, the room was crowded by advisors and liaisons, standing around the desk, but Woodes was not in his seat. Dr. Marcus stood at the open bedroom doors. “What is this?” she asked.

Dr. Marcus had a deep, soothing voice. “He insisted upon seeing his senior counselors.”

“I see that. Why's he doing it in his bedroom?”

“Because I confined him to his bed,” the doctor said with sympathy.

“Confined him?” For a moment she felt panic rise. “He was fine a few hours ago.”

“He collapsed after you left,” Dr. Marcus explained with patience. He took a deep breath. “I believe his fever is worsening. I will do what I can.”

Her initial panic made way for deeper worry and concern. She glanced over the doctor’s shoulder at Woodes, propped up against two pillows in his bed, while Major Richards made a remark. Woodes looked white as a sheet, ghoulish, and had feverish eyes. _That was why he coughed horribly last evening._ He had been coughing often and quietly too during his second restless sleep. But she had supposed it was because of Jack having tried to strangle him and the bruise on his ribs. Woodes had made little of it to her in the morning at breakfast too. Eleanor sighed, nodded at the doctor and entered the bedroom.

Woodes lay in bed, listening to Mr. Soames, a senior counselor of the royal navy, Major Richards of the regulars and the private Mr. Blight. “How long can we wait for Captain Hornigold's return before we can assume that he's failed to seize Captain Flint's ship?” argued Mr. Soames. Respectfully, Eleanor stayed in the back of the room, near the door, while Woodes scribbled frantically in his log. Eleanor met Woodes’ feverish eyes as he looked up from his writing. His hand froze in mid-air and he laid his log and plume down beside him. Mr. Soames kept on talking. “At which point I must strongly urge that we shift preparations from retrieving the stolen Urca treasure to preparing for a Spanish move against the island.”

Rogers only had eyes for her and barely listened anymore. Her eyes were sad and so full of love and concern for him. _You’re sick_ , they were telling him. _You came back to me_ _, his answered_ _-_ the Eleanor he knew and loved, his Eleanor, the best of her. He only needed one look to be certain of it, just as he had instantly recognized the other Eleanor rise from the grave last evening when she first learned of Vane’s capture. Eleanor came nearer, softly, without the other men noticing her, except for Mr. Blight. Rogers rested his hands on his chest. And when Eleanor frowned at Mr. Soames suggesting to abandon the hunt for the Urca treasure, Rogers could not wholly suppress a hint of a smile _. She remembered my warning what the consequences might be if Spain invades._ Though he would do whatever in his power to make sure she would not hang for it.

“Gentlemen,” he said. “If Captain Hornigold fails to retrieve the cache, then we will redouble our efforts and try again.” Though he might have been lying in bed, sick with fever, his voice was still strong, willful and he spoke decidedly. “However, when he returns, it would be easier for me to prosecute those efforts if I am not dead from exhaustion. Now, your counsel is invaluable, but until I'm able to recover my health, I ask that all information you need to relay to me be done through Miss Guthrie here.”

“I beg your pardon, my lord.” Mr. Soames gaped at him. Major Richards glanced at Eleanor with some doubt. Mr. Blight lifted his eyebrows in consternation.

“On this issue, I need no counsel, Mr. Soames, thank you,” Rogers assured him. “Thank you all,” Rogers indicated for them to leave. As Mr. Soames still stood petrified, he expressly said, “Go away.”

Major Richards was the first to follow the command. Mr. Soames nodded at Rogers, turned and glanced skeptically at Eleanor. Mr. Blight filed in after them. Once they were gone, Dr. Marcus closed the doors and he and she were alone. Finally, Rogers could give in to the itching in his chest and coughed under his breath. Eleanor joined his bedside, grabbed the pitcher of lime water and a glass. But Rogers lifted his hand to stop her. He had his fill of lime water. He noticed the scraped knuckles of the hand that held the pitcher. They were an angry red. _Her meeting with Vane turned ugly._ Rogers extended his hand to beg for hers. Eleanor set the pitcher down and gave him her hand looking self-consciously. Rogers held her by the fingers, stared at the broken skin of her knuckles and mused how curious it was that the same hand could be so gentle and loving to him and yet so hateful and harsh to a man in chains.

“You collapsed,” Eleanor whispered the obvious. The day before, Eleanor feared to learn Woodes might have been killed by pirates. She had lingered at the sick bay to take her mind of, hoping he would get back to her. And he did, bruised and broken like a peerless fighter. She never made room in her head that Woodes might get sick, glistening wet from fever sweat.

“You saw him?”

Eleanor swallowed. “Yes.” Another whisper.

He looked away from her knuckles to her face. “I know what you took with you into that cell.” He closed his eyes and shook his head. “I don't care what happened. Just tell me whether you were able to leave it behind in that cell.”

“There is no leaving it behind,” she said gravely, pained at the memory of the confrontation. “But I'm ready to move forward.”

Eleanor could not forgive Charles, nor forget. _What he did and why and still defending it - how do you forgive a murderer who shows no remorse, no repentance, nor even recognition of the harm he has done, not even to the memory of the man he murdered? Impossible_. But it was done, Charles was done - history, the past, not the future, nor the present. Woodes was her present and future. Without him, she would have remained trapped in that cell, in the horror. All that mattered was the Eleanor who walked out of that prison cell.

Rogers pressed his lips together and closed his eyes for a moment in acceptance and she squeezed his hand. _That answer will have to do. Perhaps it is the most realistic outcome. The darkness in her born out of Vane’s deed  will always be a part of her, of her past and history, just as my brother’s death and Sarah will be part of mine._ Their own past life had shaped them in to who they were now – the loves, the scars, the loss, the heartbreaks, the horrors. The miracle was not a clean slate, but that despite it all they could love again, truer, wiser, more forgiving and be each one’s tether to help the other surface from the depths.

In front of his men, Rogers had been unwilling to show weakness, though their arguing taxed his last reserves. So, he had ignored their bickering, scribbling away in his log, wishing for Eleanor, who was becoming more one voice and mind with him. Just to maintain the image of power and relative health, required almost all he had left inside of him. And even now, he dared not yet completely allow himself to give way to his illness in front of her. Dr. Marcus had informed him of the most likely progress the first few days, before he might get better. The chances that he would be incapacitated from fever by tomorrow were high. It would all be in Eleanor’s hands then. He doubted not that she was the only one who could speak and think for him, when he could not do so for himself. She was the only one with enough insight to deal with the pirates and Spain through Mrs. Hudson (and the sole one aside from him who was aware of the woman being a spy). But too many of his senior men could be tempted to oppose her. Such issues needed to be settled before he could give into his exhaustion fully. He let go of her hand to cover his mouth as he coughed again and then asked, “Have you spoken with Chamberlain already?”

She frowned regretfully. “No, not yet. I came here as soon as the captain at the fort told me that you had called for an urgent meeting.”

“Please, Eleanor, do it now. I cannot have you and him at odds with each other, not now.”

“But who will tend to you then?” she asked with a frown. “I just came back. I can do it later, maybe when you are resting?”

He smiled bravely at her, sat up and took up his log and plume again. “I’ll be fine, Eleanor. It’s just a fever. And the doctor is still here. Major Richards returned my book that was retrieved from the site of the attack on the caravan.” He began to doodle, pretending to be writing. “When you’ve settled your differences with Chamberlain, you can tend to me to all your heart’s content and read for me. At least we can finally discuss Marmion. Now go!”

Eleanor closed her eyes and nodded, feeling even more sorry now that she had scolded Chamberlain in such a language as that of yesterday. Eleanor tried to be strong for him and smiled back, “I will. I will go now.” He looked away from her and pretended to be intent on his doodling, and she sighed as she turned around, walked to the doors and opened them.

The councilors were still talking amongst themselves. “Maybe it’s his fever having gone to his head,” said Mr. Soames, when all the men around him fell silent and nudged him. Mr. Soames turned and paled.

Quickly, Eleanor closed the doors, took a deep breath and approached him. “Mr. Soames, surely you can understand that the governor is wise in deciding to convalesce in isolation, for his sake as well as yours. Not only does he require rest, as a Nassau, I am immune to this fever. But you are not.” As she said the latter she noticed some raised eyebrows of alarm amongst the English. That had been her intent. “The governor must needs not fear for my life, while I tend to him and relay your concerns and ideas. That is why he appointed me to this task.”

 “Miss Guthrie is correct, gentlemen,” said Dr; Marcus. “The governor and I discussed the risk for those who attend him. This was the reason he called for a meeting of his seniors. Nine other men have fallen ill since last night and been admitted to the sick bay. Together with the governor that makes twenty four cases.”

“And has anyone died from it so far?” asked Mr. Soames.

“Unfortunately, yes,” whispered Dr. Marcus with deep regret.

Eleanor widened her eyes. “Who?”

“The young man for whom Pastor Lambrick was praying yesterday afternoon, Miss Guthrie. The Pastor gave him his last rites.”

Everyone fell silent, each with their own fears and thoughts. Eleanor started to tally the numbers of the dead – two regulars shot by runaway slaves, Mr. Dufresne murdered by Silver, nine men including Major Rollins and a driver were killed by Jack’s rescuers, and one soldier died from fever. Fourteen men had died in less than a fortnight, and twenty three men were sick, including Woodes. At this rate, the English would be all dead by the time Spain arrived with that fleet. She saw a glint of fear in the men’s eyes, many of whom were young and thought this was an assured successful adventure just as she did two months ago when they sailed from London to Nassau, but Eleanor might as well be looking at dead people walking. _He could die!_ \- she thought frantically. _No, he’s a man with a strong constitution,_ she instantly protested. _He survived a horrible wound to his face, fought seven pirates (including Vane). And he has me as his companion to take care of him. He can’t die. He won’t die. I won’t allow it._

As the men hurried out, Eleanor retained Mr. Soames. “Could you please remain for a moment,” she said. Mr. Soames halted, turned around slowly and watched her with his lips pressed together. “The governor wished me to confer with the Commodore. Do you know where I might find him?”

Mr. Soames narrowed his eyes at her. “I do not think he would be keen to see you, M’am.”

Eleanor sighed and nodded. “Understandably so. My conduct to him yesterday was inexcusable, which is partly why the governor _and_ I wish to see him. I can assure you that there will be no repeat of it. But surely you can see that, with the possibility of putting in extra forces to retrieve the cache as well as secure the defense of Nassau and larger New Providence against a Spanish invasion, this is not the time that Commodore Chamberlain and I have no direct communication between us, for I guarantee that both the governor and I want this island to remain English as well as civil.”

“Well, if the water can’t be carried to the horse, I guess we must bring the horse to the water,” Mr. Soames said reluctantly.

Eleanor lifted her eyebrows and was not so sure whether she wished to be compared to a horse, but then said, “After you, Mr. Soames.”

Mr. Soames had not just been using a figure of speech. It turned out that Commodore Chamberlain was holding drilling exercises on His Majesty’s Ships. As Eleanor glided over the calm water of the bay in a launch, towards a ship from which she could hear the commands being shouted and saw sailors climb the ropes aloft to brail up and furl the sails, she became acutely aware that the task ahead of her there would be taxing. And yet, she would do it as graceful as a lady was expected to be. By the time she arrived at the _Delicia_ , the sailors were climbing up again to douse and reef the sails.

Eleanor was hoisted aboard, and everybody glanced for a moment, before Chamberlain shouted, “What are you all staring at. Brail up the sails! Go! Go!” Chamberlain indicated with his chin to her and asked Mr. Soames, “What’s _that_ one doing here?” Mr. Soames whispered something in Chamberlain's ear.

Still standing in the lifted sloop, Eleanor said, “Permission to come aboard, sir? And approach?”

Chamberlain looked away from her and sniffed his nose. “Well, since you’re _fucking_ here now, and do what you _fucking_ want anyway.” Eleanor stepped aboard as elegantly as she could. She neared with her hands respectfully before her, but instead of positioning herself before him as a supplicant, she came to stand beside him. “Well, what do you want? Can’t you see I’m _fucking_ busy preparing for war?”

“I came to apologize, sir. I was out of line, yesterday, both when I sought you for help as well as afterwards. Even when we disagree or actively dislike each other for our differences, I was unduly disrespectful to you, especially in front of your men.”

Chamberlain turned his head and narrowed his eyes. “Did the governor ask you to do this?”

“He pointed out to me that you earned your position through hard work, as any other man of the sea, and I owe you at least respect for that.” Eleanor mirrored Chamberlain's stance, looked into the distance at nothing. “He also reminded me that in a civil Nassau, I must set an example of civility. So, I endeavor to make peace between us, however uncomfortable it may be for us both.” Finally she looked at him. “I know you think ill of me, sir, and I know some of your reasons for doing so, but I do value you, at least since the day when you stopped our governor from the reckless idea to read the address himself.” She coughed. “And if you permit me the use of some unladylike language – I wanted to kiss you then for it.” Eleanor mumbled the last.

Chamberlain’s eyebrows shot up in the air. “So you think he can be reckless then?”

“Some of us are more reckless than others. Both caution and rashness can end in disaster if we cannot put our ideas together and make it work. You and I do not require to be friends, but I recognize you share the same goals that I have – see to the governor’s safety and that this English endeavor, that already has demanded the sacrifice of fourteen lives, succeeds.”

The commodore turned towards Eleanor and looked at her coolly, from head to toe. “Miss Guthrie, while your language yesterday was beneath your station, I perhaps may have provoked it, by forgetting my priorities and commenting on private conduct which is none of my business.”

It was the first time he actually ever referred to her by name and it sounded close to an apology. In light of his previous behavior it sounded almost like a blessing. Eleanor wished to smile, but since he acted so reserved and distant, she thought it better to remain professional. “Thank you, Commodore.”

“I was given to understand that you are the liaison between all personnel and the governor for now?”

“Yes.”

“I will send a report by tonight about the drill exercise, and if you have need of me then please send for me. Lieutenant Perkins will do fine next time.” He nodded at her. “Good day, Miss Guthrie. If I can continue the exercises?”

“Of course, Commodore.” Eleanor was astonished at the result and how quickly it came about. “Thank you, Commodore.”

“Mr. Eames! Since you are loitering about, perhaps you can make yourself more useful by attending to Miss Guthrie and help her back into the launch.”

“At once, Commodore,” replied the lad.

She smiled at the young man. “It is good to see you again, Mr. Eames. Though Nassau is but a small town, it seems we live in two different worlds now. How have you been doing?”

“Thank you, Miss Guthrie, for your inquiry.” He dared not look at her, as he held her by the hand when she managed to step into the swinging launch. “You are too kind. I have been mostly staying aboard, to study for my examination.”

Eleanor thought that might have been a wise choice. The men who were at the sick-bay were only those who lived on land. “I wish you every success, Mr. Eames, and perhaps it is wise to remain away from the shore for the time being.”

Mr. Eames frowned and looked troubled. “It is whispered that the governor has taken ill.”

“Unfortunately, yes.”

“I will pray for him,” the lad said decidedly.

Eleanor found Woodes asleep when she entered his rooms with the book. “When did he fall asleep?” she asked Dr. Marcus.

“Shortly, after you left, miss.”

“And his fever?”

“Still rising unfortunately. I believe he will wake in a few hours though. Please, see to it that he takes as many fluids as possible – soup, broth, sugared tea and lime water. I recommend that any water used for cooking or drinking has first been filtered with charcoal and then boiled.”

“Why charcoal?” asked Eleanor. She knew boiling water made it taste better, but not the filtering.

“A few decades ago Van Leeuwenhoek discovered tiny organisms living in water through a microscope. The charcoal treatment seems to lower the count of them. Boiling does too. It may be that the fever is not related to the water, but best not take any chances.”

“I will give Dyson the task to oversee it in the kitchens.” She smiled at the doctor. “Thank you. I will remain here, and if his condition worsens I will send word. But I think the sick-bay requires your attention too.”

Dr. Marcus bowed his head to her. “I will call again this evening.”

Eleanor had one of the guards fetch Perkins and Dyson, and relayed the information the doctor had given her. She not only instructed Dyson to make sure that this procedure would be adhered to in the mansion’s kitchens, but she wanted Perkins to put similar measures in place for any of the kitchens where soldiers were lodged. Perkins was not unfamiliar with those measures. “Some captains have started to apply this filtering technique when going into uncivilized territory. And it is a measure used on board of our fleet.”

“It might explain why no naval officers have been reported sick yet,” mused Eleanor.

“But what about the lack of civilian cases?” asked Perkins. “They lodge as boarders in town or inland. And I doubt the islanders filter water for such purposes.”

Eleanor had to admit that was indeed a contradictory issue. _Unless…_ “It might depend on the water source. Find out where the barracks get their water from. Nassau’s water supply and sewage is underdeveloped. It should be considered uncivilized territory.” Eleanor sighed and nodded at the two men. “Thank you, gentlemen. I will be inside, tending to the governor. If I’m needed or there is news from Hornigold, please report it to me. I will pass it all on to our governor.”

She entered his room again, felt his brow softly for fever, prepared a compress and applied it to his forehead. Woodes’ eyes fluttered and when he opened them well and clear, he smiled at her. His eyes were more feverish then a few hours before, and he closed his eyes again, but reached for her hand. “Do you have the book?” he whispered.

“Yes.”

Woodes coughed. “I was somewhere at Psyche’s trials.”

Eleanor took a chair and set it right beside him, placed the book in her lap, opened and searched for the second part of the poem. While she read aloud, Rogers opened his eyes and watched her, wishing she were his wife. Though her eyes were on the pages, she was aware enough of his focus, for she reached with her hand to find his again. When she reached the passage where Cupid saved Psyche from her deadly sleep with a kiss, Rogers squeezed her hand. “The rest can wait.”

“Do you wish to rest some more?”

Eyes closed again, Rogers shook his head, and smiled. “I want to discuss. What do you think of Psyche’s ordeals?”

Closing the book, Eleanor furrowed her brow. “I find it an unjust story really. Why is Venus so angry with her? She should be upset with the worshippers and her son. Psyche never asked to be adulated so. She believed she would die, and was married to Cupid without knowing it was him, or that it was invalid. She was a dutiful, virtuous wife, and tricked into it. And her sisters! She is kind to them, generous, and they repay it all with vicious slander and lies and betrayal, because they envy her looks, wealth and husband. Everyone’s mad at her, and yet she never did any wrong.”

Rogers chuckled, but an alarming racket of a cough interrupted that. His hand gripped hers tighter in reflex. Eleanor instantly helped him sit up, so he could free his airways better. She came to sit on the bedside and stroked her hand on his back, like her mother once did when she was sick abed. His shirt was drenched with sweat. He coughed a last time, and said, “Thank you.” She padded his pillows, put them against the headboard and helped him ease back into them. Rogers nodded to indicate it was good. “Yes, it is all unfair, just like life is unfair. You know this. You’ve experienced it - idolization, envy, betrayal, hatred.” Eleanor pondered this and yes she saw the similarity – Charles’ obsession with her, Max’s envy and veneration before that, the hypocrisy of islanders hating her but a pirate could do no wrong. “Venus is the embodiment of love,” Rogers said. “But in this story she is hateful, cruel, vindictive, drunk and just seems completely out of sorts - the opposite of love. There is no joy, no life, no love in the world at the start of the story, not even for Psyche. With nobody serving love, but only their selfish instincts, Venus is weakened and mirrors the cruelty of the world below. When love itself is unloved is it not natural that hatred rules instead?”

Eleanor saw her mother as she was in her last dream, so unlike the mother she had been, without love, without understanding and undignified. But when Eleanor imagined her mother being alive to see what became of Nassau as a pirate republic, ruled by greed, envy, lust and debauchery then that was exactly how she imagined her mother to feel - upset, angry, raging - and she would chastise Eleanor for going along with it. Life was no life at the pirate’s republic. There was drunkenness, but no joy. There was no love, and even those who felt love denied it, violated it or committed cruelties for it. “You are saying that not Psyche is the cause of it, but the state of the world.”

“Yes,” said Rogers. “Is it not right then that Venus demands that the one truly innocent and lovable character, who is said to be like Venus come on earth, becomes her servant?”

“That makes sense.” Still, Eleanor shook her head. “But why such deadly missions? Venus wants Psyche dead.”

“Does she? Venus asks Psyche to do the impossible. And she succeeds, because love still remains, in the ants, the reed, with the gods. Maybe by doing the intolerable Psyche restores the world and Venus with the help of the love that is drawn to her.”

“Venus denies Psyche has a hand in it,” argued Eleanor. “It’s everybody else doing it for her. Cupid does it magically for her.”

“Just as the people envied, hated and feared Psyche first, now her surroundings love and empathize with her. Love supports." Rogers intertwined his fingers in hers. "Love is magical,” he sighed. He wanted to tell her. But it seemed so wrong to say it, while he was this ill, might be dying.

Eleanor smiled a little, at his words, at the subject of their discussion, seated so close, holding hands. It was so domestic and peaceful. She gazed down from where she sat into his eyes, hazed by fever, the shine of sweat on his brow, the cuts and grazes on his face that had the color of a dead mask. Woodes looked a mess and weak – the opposite of the stern, virile, handsomely dressed man on the _Delicia_ who managed to make her quiver with desire to please with just one grave look of his or a displeased fidgeting in his pocket. And yet, she loved him as much, if not more. It was her turn to be strong for him, to see to his needs and restore him, and he allowed her to, trusted her not to be repulsed by his current state.

When her father was mending from his gunshot wound at Miranda’s house, Eleanor had gone there for herself, to use his weakened state for her own ends. She had barely even pretended to care for his physical need, and walked out as soon as she knew he would not give her what she wanted. It certainly was not the behavior of a loving, doting daughter. She had no time for opposition, for sickness or someone else’s needs then, not even her own father. _I was horrible to him_ , she thought. _And yet I blamed him for not loving me._ _I was cruel, hateful, unforgiving and selfish, and expected father to prove to me that he loved me nonetheless, just like Venus._ And here I sit, so differently, at the bedside of a man who is not supposed to love me, and I dote on him like a loving wife, even though there is no hope he can ever actually be mine. “Love makes magic happen,” she whispered.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Underworld - Though Eleanor believes she has accomplished her main trial by confronting Vane in his cell, her underworldly tasks are not yet completed. She does not cross the rivulet back to the mansion. Eleanor has left Tartarus, but not the underworld, fitting the imagery of her realizing that the Englishmen around her may be dead men walking - killed either by disease, pirates or runaway slaves - and that Rogers looks like one with a foot in his grave.
> 
> Hands that love or hate - the show uses hands, their location and how they interact with another character to reveal the characters' feelings. Vane's in love and places Eleanor's hand on his chest, but Eleanor is reluctant. While she cups his face in her hands when she kisses him, she also punches his face with her fists, indicating a love-hate relationshit (no, that's no 'typo'). Max cups Eleanor's face in S1, but Eleanor does not do the same with Max. Eleanor caresses Rogers' scar with her 'knuckles', while Rogers notices the broken skin of those same knuckles she used to beat Vane. Eleanor always cups Rogers' face when she kisses him. Eleanor voluntarily lays her hand on Rogers' heart, whether he's conscious or not, without her ever being invited to. And in the final scene, Rogers "begs for her hand" and "she gives her hand", a visual pun to a marriage proposal. 
> 
> Angry Venus, Eleanor's mother - an allegory for the pirate's republic as a place of destructive greed, envy and lust. I paraphrase Miranda's words to Flint 'There is no life here. There is no joy here. There is no love here.' While Flint feels love and does what he does because of love, he's consumed with revenge and majorly the creator of a loveless world taking the people he loves along. Vane and Max do the same thing with Eleanor. They feel love, but their acts are hateful choices and actions. Love becomes a twisted, destructive thing, while it ought to be constructive, magical, make the impossible happen, unite people to support each other rather than destroy each other. Eleanor realizes it was not just everyone around her who acted hateful, but that she became an enabler (selfish, vindictive and hateful from lack of love in her world), just as Venus becomes the opposite of what she's supposed to be. 
> 
> Weakness - Vane despises it, including in himself, and why he resists showing it to Eleanor with every fiber of his being. Eleanor wishes to exploit her father's physical weakness for her own ends, barely pretending to tend to him. Rogers' choice to show his weakened state to her is a direct contrast to Vane not wanting to show it, though he has a gunshot wound and a bandage around his leg. Unlike Vane who cannot tolerate the idea of Eleanor being on top of him (even sexually), Rogers is capable of handing the keys to her. He may not like being weak, but he has little choice, and surrenders. It denotes trust and values of gender equality. She loves him more for it.


	29. Alone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eleanor shares her feelings of guilt over her father's death with Rogers now that she knows Vane's motive behind it. The mysterious deadly fever may be largely caused by contaminated water. Rogers grows increasingly weaker and eventually slips into delirium. Max warns Eleanor to come to the tavern to witness the trouble brewing at the beach.

Rogers slept, rested and was awake at intervals. But slowly his state worsened, rather than getting better. Eleanor had managed to get him to eat some clear soup. “First the bread,” she had said. “I know it’s dry, but it will act like a sponge. That’s what my mother always said.” While the mysterious fever did not seem to involve issues with intestines, Eleanor did not want to take any chances.

“This early afternoon,” he coughed. “Chamberlain was not making it too hard on you, was he?”

Eleanor stood by the window, watching the sun set. Life could be a mess, but one could rely on the sunset always being beautiful, and yet never the same. Sometimes the clouds in the sky were more orange, at other times slightly more purple. And when there were no clouds at all, it was just a giant fireball and an almost greenish sky going to dark blue. “After swearing a few times, he called me Miss Guthrie and gave me to understand that he might have provoked me.” She turned around and smiled at him. “We made our peace, because we have mutual interests.”

Woodes chuckled, followed by coughs that made her heart jump. “Oh my. And those are?”

“Seeing you safe and ensuring New Providence remains English.” She walked to his bed, lifted the tray and brought it to the office for Dyson to pick up. When she returned, she rearranged his sheet and his pillows. “Charles did not sign the mercy plea,” she said. “I left it there for him to reconsider.”

“I didn’t think he would.” Rogers watched her guardedly.

She sat down on the bedside, with her back to him, looking out at the darkened purple and pink streaks of color in the sky after the sun had left them minutes ago. “I tried to leave,” she whispered.

Rogers reached for her hand in her lap, gently prying open her fingers. “And he didn’t let you.”

She looked down at his hand that tried to curl her fingers. She smiled at the gesture and took his in her lap with both her hands.“No.”

“That’s when you did this.” Rogers brushed his thumb against the dry wounds of her knuckles.

Eyes closed, Eleanor nodded. She knew she ought to feel ashamed for it, but it had been cathartic. “I wanted to kill him,” she mumbled, while she brushed his thumb in response.  

“But you didn’t.” Rogers studied her profile. “I’m sorry, Eleanor, that it didn’t go as we both hoped.”

She felt the pressure behind her eyes build again and her throat was thick with emotion. She shook her head. Her voice trembled, when she finally spoke. “There is no need to be sorry. Though it was horrific, it helped. I know now why he did it.”

“Why?” he whispered, dreading the answer.

“He believes he did it for love.” A single tear rolled down her cheek. It felt hot on her cheek. “He saw my father as a rival for my affections, thought it would free me from wanting my father’s love and approval.”

“That’s horrible.”

Her breath came in shudders. “It’s my fault. If I had never been with him in the first place, my father might still be alive.”

He freed his hand, wrapped it around her waist and pulled her head to his chest, squeezing her, stroking her. As she wept her tears on his heart, Rogers thought about the horrible things people did in the name of love. Crimes of passion they were called. “You couldn’t have known he would be this obsessed.” He caressed her soft, silky hair, trying to soothe her. And the soapy smell of her hair intermingled with her own soothed him. Though her clutching hurt him where he was bruised and stiff, he bore it. “Eleanor you mustn’t blame yourself.” He whispered to her, “You expected him to retaliate, against you directly. But he didn’t. You know why now. No rational nor empathic human being could have foreseen his choice, let alone why. You need to forgive yourself. You cannot let your own life or how you feel about yourself be determined by another man’s choices.”

Eleanor lifted her head and wiped her tears from her eyes, smiling. “Someone else told me something like that before.”

Rogers took her hand in his again. It was delicate and small against his. “Who?”

“John Silver.”

He grimaced and patted her hand that he was holding with his other. “Apart from being a murdering pirate with one leg, he seems to have some wisdom as well.” He looked serious again. “Earlier today we discussed unfair Venus’s and Cupid’s anger towards Psyche seems. At the end though Psyche does make a fatal mistake.”

“She opens the box of beauty.”

“Despite the fact she was expressly told not to. It turns out not to harbor beauty but eternal sleep. Psyche is responsible for what befalls her there.”

Eleanor nodded. “It is not vanity that makes her do it though. She does it for Cupid.”

“Perhaps,” Rogers said. “Whether it is insecurity, or vanity, it matters little. The crucial point to me seems that exactly when Psyche is responsible, has shown herself to be flawed, Cupid returns to her to revive her with a kiss.” He brought the broken skin of her knuckles to his dry, chapped lips and kissed them.

“He forgives her,” Eleanor whispered. “He loves her despite her mistakes and flaws.”

“Indeed. To love truly is to forgive, Eleanor.” And as he said it, Rogers realized he had never loved Sarah in that way. He never truly forgave her. “If you must blame yourself over your father’s death, at least try to forgive yourself.” He closed his eyes, feeling tired.

By late night, there still was no news from Hornigold. Flint either gave him a good fight or stayed ahead in a chase. But Perkins arrived with a report on the exercises from Chamberlain, as well as the preparations underway for the HMS _Shark_ to leave Nassau and return to London with Charles Vane.

“Is that you, Lieutenant?” Woodes said from his bedroom. Eleanor had left the door ajar, in case Woodes needed her. She did not want him to exert himself in order to call her. “Please, come in.”

“Go on,” Eleanor urged the man, who was only a few years younger than herself.

From the doorway, she watched Perkins as he visited the governor, who was propping himself up. He had dark hair, light blue eyes, and was handsome. She was sure several women here on the island must fancy him. He had never treated her with any particular reverence, but was never discourteous either. To her he was one of Woodes’ men, except she saw him as often as Dyson. And she knew less of him than she knew of Dyson. But his regular presence made him a confidant in Woodes’ household.

“What news, Lieutenant?” Woodes said with a brave smile. Perkins gave Woodes a similar account as he had already passed on to Eleanor. She realized it was hard for the governor not to let go of his state of affairs. “I want fifty more men in the fort,” Woodes said.

“It will be done immediately, sir,” said Perkins.

“And Miss Guthrie mentioned something about water earlier on.”

“Water, sir?” Perkins said puzzled.

Woodes waved his hand in the air impatiently. “The water source at the barracks!”

“Ah, yes, they take the water from an underground river nearby the fort.”

Woodes squinted. “Miss Guthrie, would you be so kind to bring the maps.”

Eleanor wanted to say he need not trouble himself with that, but as he made a show of strength and ability to Perkins, she walked to the box with maps, pulled out several and brought them to him. While Woodes fussed over this map and that map, Eleanor knew the water source Perkins was talking about – it got its water from the rivulet she had crossed that morning. “You might try the earliest map, when they started to rebuild the town and named it Nassau in 1695, my lord.” She pulled it from underneath the bottom of the pile and opened it for him. “It would have the old sewage system marked on it. Parts of it were destroyed in the Rosario Raid, and in the last eight years I tried to have some repaired or newly built.” Then she saw it. “There!” she pointed. “There’s an old sewage drain that reaches into this river ahead of the point where the barracks get their water, an abandoned area that nobody cared about. But with the new settlers having moved in the area?” She then took another map, more recent. “This is the water source for the majority of town.”

They all stared at one another. Nobody needed to utter the words to realize that the barracks had drank contaminated water. Woodes let go of the maps. “Have them ordered to get their water from the other source, Lieutenant. I know it’s further away, but it might be safer.”

“Of course, immediately, my lord!”

Woodes began to cough and laid back. “Thank you, Lieutenant.”

Eleanor showed Perkins out, but this time she did close the door. “It does not explain the clerk, let alone the governor getting sick," Perkins said. "Unless your kitchen uses the same water source as the barracks?”

Eleanor rubbed her forehead and sighed. “No, we use the main one like the rest of town. Perhaps the governor drank water offered to him at the fort? But the clerk? I will speak to the doctor about it. If there is no decrease in reported cases by next week, then at least we can exclude water from causing it.” Perkins lingered and met her eyes for a moment, and she asked, “Is there something else, Lieutenant?”

 “Thank you, miss,” the lieutenant said. “For letting me see him. If anyone asks, I will tell them that he seemed himself as always.”

Eleanor took a closer look at the young man. Perkins had not been truly fooled by Woodes’ pretense and he was worried. But he also wanted to let her know that he could be trusted not to leak alarming reports of the governor’s condition. Eleanor smiled a little at that. “Thank you, Lieutenant.”

Dr. Marcus arrived when Woodes slept. She discussed the idea about the contaminated water source and what measures were being taken. Her intuition told her it was water related, but she could not explain the few mansion related cases. Dr. Marcus inspected Woodes’ fever and warned her that it would get worse still. Many of the patients were often in delirious states. “Has he been able to keep his food in?”

“Yes. He complains of a mild headache though, other than coughing and of course the fever.”

Dr. Marcus nodded. “These are the most common symptoms.” He rubbed his chin in thought. “A few vomited mildly at the start and felt nauseous, or lost their appetite. But some of the earliest patients seem to develop diarrhea, green like pea soup. And one in three have rose spots on their abdomen. Maybe it are different diseases?” He looked at her. “Well, at the moment you are doing what you can – administer poultices to relieve the fever sensations and keep the governor hydrated and fed. But make sure you get some rest yourself, Miss Guthrie. The worst I fear is still to come.”

Eleanor dared not sleep. Instead, she lit all the chandeliers in the room, had Dyson bring in extra pitchers of water for the fever compresses, changed them regularly and read, with the chirping crickets for background music. She had no wish to read Marmion by herself, and finally decided to peruse Woodes’ bible. She had not opened a bible since the Rosario Raid. But people claimed to find comfort in it. As a child, she had been mostly fond of the stories of the Old Testament, that were more akin to fairytales or legends: Rebecca at the well, Joseph and his jealous older brothers and his dreams, Moses in his reed basket, Samson and Delilah, David against Goliath and his love for Bathsheba, Solomon’s judgment, Queen Esther and her feasts, and Daniel in the Lion’s Den. Eleanor started at the beginning, until eventually she dragged herself exhausted into Woodes’ bed. She fell asleep, in her clothes, her hand on his restlessly rumbling heart.

The morning brought no improvement, on the contrary. Woodes had been restless throughout the night. She had never felt a man to be so hot at the touch. It was as if he was boiling. He woke several times, complaining of thirst. She sent Dyson to fetch Dr. Marcus as soon as the night sky lightened. But the doctor said they could do little else than what they were doing already. Seven more men had died at the sick bay that night.

Rogers’ dreams were strange with shades of disturbing colors, shapes and lights that moved unnaturally. As he waded in this strange world, which he expected to be as light as air, it felt instead as the air weighed a ton. And when he walked it was as if he was on board of a ship, or inside of it, something that moved on waves. He never had been seasick in his life, but he feared he would for the first time. It was oppressing, strange and scary and… _slimy_?

Then her face appeared in the darkness – Sarah’s. He saw the halo of her blonde hair and at first her face was shadowy and hazy. But as she came closer, her features turned sharper and he could see her brown eyes. He squeezed his eyes closed, for her eyes seemed to burn and his scar itched and crackled as if it was on fire. She reached out with her hand to him, a claw, and he jerked away from her. “Shush now, I won’t hurt you,” she said soothingly. “You’re safe now.”

The light altered, so did his surroundings. He lay in bed in his home at Bristol. Though the room was filled with a misty veil, it was so bright it hurt his eyes and he needed to squint. He heard movement and his wife sat at his bedside. “Sarah?” he asked stunned.

But when he said her name, she looked heartbroken. “Don’t you know who I am?”

He closed his eyes again and fell into a dream state, where he was locked in a room by his wife. She had bound him to his bed with needles. “No more island business for you. You are mine. I am the mother of your children.” He tried to scream, but the air seemed to swallow all sound and then everything faded to black.

Eleanor clutched his hand. He had opened his eyes for a moment and looked straight at her with glazed eyes full of surprise and fear. She had smiled reassuringly at him and then he called her by his wife’s name. She had tried not to show any disturbance at that, for clearly this was the fever speaking. He closed his eyes again after and seemed to be dreaming, sometimes mumbling unintelligently. Still, she could not completely shake the fact that, disorientated and delirious from fever, he thought of his wife first. _He expects his wife to care for him when he is ill. _Not me.__ _He was frightened of me_.     

For inexplicable reasons, Eleanor picked up the bible again, and leafed through it in search of her most favorite story - Jonah and the Whale. There were whole chapters about decrees how to prepare food and such, and the return to Israel from Egypt seemed to have far more chapters than she remembered. Chapter after chapter handled the wars to retake Israel and several Judges, none of which she recognized much or that grabbed her interest. Though she took note of there being a woman mentioned who went to war, Deborah. _Ah, Samson!_ Finally, something she recognized. _But where is David? There he is!_ And then came Solomon, followed by a repeated cycle of all the previous. Eleanor grew desperate, seemingly not finding Jonah. She had never really known the order of the bible all that well. Her mother used to open it where she knew a story to be, and either read aloud or lay it open before Eleanor for her to read herself. She nearly wanted to give up, believing that perhaps she had imagined or dreamed Jonah and the Whale. Eleanor picked through the chapters, skipping many pages all at once, and suddenly, finally, there it was.

To read it as an adult was quite different than as a child. She remembered that Jonah fled from God, but she had forgotten why. And while she thought it was about a whale, she noticed it was simply called a big fish. Eleanor had also believed the story ended with Jonah being spit out by the whale, and did not know the story continued with Jonah warning Nineveh, nor that he was angry for God forgiving the city and its people. It struck her that Jonah had feared to be the herald of destruction of the sinful city, but then was angry when people repented swiftly and were forgiven. It was much like the pirates and her fearing the coming of England, sure that England was set out to destroy Nassau. Instead Woodes arrived to pardon them all, and the pirates on the beach surrendered their arms with great relief. Meanwhile, Flint and Rackham seemed angry like Jonah that England did not raze Nassau after all. She remembered Woodes’ earlier words about love being forgiveness. She had come to a similar conclusion herself when she was in the belly of the fort, in Charles’ cell. Eleanor recognized the same message in Jonah’s story – resist and flee the inevitable and it would incur wrath and misery for all, but repent and mercy could be given.   

After reading it the first time, Eleanor went back and reread the first part, about the storm, the drawing of lots and the seamen sacrificing Jonah for they blamed him. She realized why she had sought the story then. _The pirates believed I was the problem, and that if they could just hand me over to Captain Hume the English storm would be appeased. And they were not so wrong – my resistance was futile._ She had been in the belly of a whale, in Newgate. But her prayer had been a different one than Jonah’s. _I begged for justice. I offered acceptance of my fate and having loved Charles once in return for it. And then Woodes arrived._ She looked up from the bible and watched Woodes in his fever sleep, him who told her to forgive herself. Eleanor was unsure what her fate would be when all was said and done, except that it was bound to him and an English Nassau. Somebody knocked on the door. Eleanor put the bible down, leaving it open at Jonah’s prayer, got up, walked to the door and slipped out.

It was one of the guards. “A messenger came, asking for you, Miss Guthrie. She said her name is Eme, was sent by Max, and that you must needs go to the tavern urgently.”

Eleanor frowned. _Did _Max discover who the spy?__ She looked at the door behind her _. I cannot just leave him like that._ Then she had an idea. “Could you please send for Mrs. Hudson, Lieutenant.”

“At once, miss.”

She entered the governor’s bedroom again, closed the bible and laid it on the window sill. At least their spy of Spain could make herself useful in this way. Mrs. Hudson would never tell a soul, other than her contact of Spain what state Woodes was in. And Mrs. Hudson ought to see what her saying too much about Jack Rackham to her Spanish contact had caused. As Eleanor looked at Woodes, she realized she was about to leave him. _Perhaps it would be better if I remain. If Woodes is afraid of me, then how will he react if he finds Mrs. Hudson here?_ And yet Max would not request her without good reason. She sat down beside him, on the bedside and laid her hand on his heart. He gasped and furrowed his brow. “I’m sorry, I need to go for a while. I will return as soon as I can,” she promised. Then she whispered, “I know I’m not your wife, nor the mother of your children and that she ought to be here. That you wish for her to be here. I understand I cannot truly replace her for you.” She closed her eyes for a moment. “I love you, even if you do not love me in the same way.” Eleanor dipped the cloth in the basin of fresh water, wrenched out the extra water and dabbed it against his forehead that was hot like a furnace, his cheeks, throat, neck and chest. He wrenched his face away from her.

The door opened behind her. “You sent for me?” said Mrs. Hudson.

Without turning to look at the woman, Eleanor laid the cloth back into the basin, and rested her hand on his heart. She did not care that Mrs. Hudson saw it or would disapprove of it. As he slept and was somewhere else in his delirious mind, it was the sole connection she had left to him. “Dr. Marcus says that the stress of receiving visitors is aggravating his condition, so I will seal off this room from today. No one will be permitted in, other than myself and the doctor. As long as this state of affairs is necessary, I would like you to tend to him.”

“Of course.” Mrs. Hudson approached until she stood right behind Eleanor. “How long has he been asleep?” she demanded. Woodes cringed.

Gentling her own voice to soothe him, Eleanor said, “He woke a few hours ago, just for a moment.”

“Did you inform him of this plan to sequester him?” Mrs. Hudson asked in her skeptical tone.

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Because he looked at me and addressed me as Sarah. He thought I was his wife.” _At least Mrs. Hudson can feel victorious that Woodes is a constant man, after all_ , Eleanor thought. She let go of his heart, turned and got up from the bed. “He was delirious with fever.” Mrs. Hudson looked at her and Woodes dumbfounded. “If his condition changes, please send word.”

Downstairs, her usual escort already awaited her. Though she knew their names to be William Johnson and Thomas Searberg, in her mind she thought of the pair as Tall and Shorty. “Let’s go,” she said, and briskly made her way to the inn, and entered Max’s office. Max stood out on the balcony in a beautiful dress of white with wine-red swirl pattern. As Eleanor neared, she asked, “What is it?”

“When I sent for you, there were approximately twenty of them. In ten minutes, it has grown two-fold.”

As Eleanor stationed herself on the balcony, beside Max, she stood close enough to note the heavy perfume that Max preferred - dark, exotic, woody, bringing hot sweltering nights and rum to mind. A group of men gathered on the beach, encircling a young speaker. “What is he saying?”

“That the law and order promised by the new regime is little more than a veneer, behind which Eleanor Guthrie has returned to settle old scores and restore her tyranny over Nassau once again.”

And there it was, the moment she had feared since the beginning. Eleanor appraised the young man in the distance. Young, handsome in a rough kind of way and a charming smile – _far better looking than Lilywhite_. She remembered him. When he first arrived on the island, he had introduced himself to her, drunk on rum, as Jacob Garrett, asked for her hand and kissed it. “One day, I will be a famous pirate who will make you richer than Flint and Charles Vane combined, my lady.” She had merely smiled at the big talker, and he had gone on the account with Captain Naft of the _Intrepid_ as Carpenter's Mate. 

Max watched Eleanor from the corner of her eye. Mrs. Mapleton had confirmed her the identity of the spy the day before - Idelle. It had puzzled her that the brothel madam had not gone directly to Eleanor about it, as she had done half a year ago about the Urca gold in the hope to destroy Max. It would have been a great opportunity to destroy Max. If Eleanor (and god forbid the governor) knew that Idelle was the spy, then Max would look as having betrayed them. Max had asked Mrs. Mapleton why she had not gone to Eleanor with her information. Mrs. Mapleton’s reply had intrigued her – while Eleanor may be wearing different clothes and might have new friends, she still looked the same to her, a woman who only knew who she was through the eyes of her enemies and made more of them.

“I hear they will threaten to stand in the way of any attempt to remove Charles Vane off the island,” said Max. Eleanor looked at her. “That if he's to be tried, it must be here, in the open, where they can see it with their own eyes.”

“You’re fucking kidding me! Vane is scheduled to be moved from the fort to the _Shark_ in a few hours. Chamberlain is making arrangements right now. Is there anything you can do about this?”

“To dispel what is building down there, it is going to require appeasement or it is going to require force.”

“Appeasement? Hold his trial here?” Eleanor said incredulous and looked at Max askew. “To begin with, the lawyers aren't even sure that we have the authority to do that without a judge yet appointed, and even if it were legitimate, proceeding like that would last weeks. Dredge up a dark past just when progress is so near at hand?”

“If the alternative is an armed clash between those men and the dozens of soldiers it would take to subdue them, a little time spent confronting the past may be the lesser evil.” Max also thought it might benefit Eleanor. The whole street believed that Charles Vane had solely been excluded from the pardon, because Eleanor, the governor’s mistress, had turned the governor against Captain Vane for the murder of her father. By having a trial, in Nassau, in the open, Eleanor could prove the opposite.

Eleanor narrowed her eyes at the speaker and the crowd of men listening to him. This had nothing really to do with her. Jacob was using the former hatred for her within those men off the account as a propaganda for his own agenda. “I can't believe this is a coincidence -a plot to steal the cache followed so closely by something as choreographed as this.” Max touted her lips and remained silent. Eleanor turned. “I'll take this to the governor.”

“You should be careful,” Max said as Eleanor started to leave. She froze. “I understand the governor has tasked you with being his eyes and ears while he convalesces. In this particular instance, you would be wise to make sure, whatever happens to Captain Vane, those men have no reason to believe it happened because of you.”

Max agreed with Mrs. Mapleton that Eleanor was not that different from the person she had always been at heart. However, Max believed they had all misjudged her from the very beginning. They had wanted to see Eleanor as their enemy, for their own reasons – some for greed, some for envy, and both Vane and she because Eleanor did not love them the way they desired from her. They had bonded in their hatred for her, until Eleanor was left all alone and finally felt she had no other choice than to become their enemy. And then they sacrificed her, celebrated and believed all their problems were solved. But Vane had been listless and like a ship without a rudder. Flint turned into a real monster. Jack could run Nassau no better than a brothel. And Max was still consumed with hatred for Eleanor, using Anne to soothe the pain.

When Max warned her, Eleanor felt a coldness around her heart. Stiffly, she said, “Whatever happens will be the governor's decision, of course.” She was alone in this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Typhoid fever - Dr. Marcus describes its symptoms. It killed off the first settlers in Virginia and more soldiers in the 18th and 19th century than the fighting did, because of poor sanitary conditions. At the start of the 18th century, Typhoid was not yet identified, and since there was a variation of symptoms it was not always clear it was the same disease. There was no treatment for it (no antibiotics). Micro-organisms had been identified under the microscope a few decades before this, but nobody yet associated them with the ability to cause disease. The source of the contamination also makes the "refreshment" at the underwordly fort "deadly", and thus fits with the symbolism of not accepting food or drinks in the underworld.
> 
> Malaria - Though I find it hard to expand the timeline for this, it is possible that the show intends to have more time elapsed between 3x05 and 3x07 as Featherstone mentions Colonel Andrews having been a customer for "weeks" to Idelle when he asks her to find out the route. If at least 3 weeks have passed after landing at Nassau, then Woodes Rogers may be suffering from malaria. Anyhow, to leave the medical issue ambiguous, I have the redcoats suffer from Typhoid fever, but disconnect the Clerk's and Rogers' illness from the contamination source.
> 
> Delirium - include hallucinations, disorientation, not recognizing people, and broken cycle of sleep and wakefulness. Typically, the patient develops a paranoia for the caretaker. Here, Rogers fears his caretaker Sarah, while Eleanor is the actual caretaker and interpretes it as Rogers wanting Sarah and fearing her. The interpretation that Rogers says Sarah's name while delirious means he loves Sarah is likely wrong, exactly because it is delirium.
> 
> Jonah and the Whale - (I'm an atheist) With the anglofication of Eleanor, she peruses the bible. Eleanor's search is like someone who is familiar with the stories, but not the structure. Jonah's prayer shares "acceptance" of Eleanor's Othello like prayer. Though Eleanor vowed to accept her fate in chapter 1, only now is she required to fulfill it. The belly of the fish/whale as well as the near drowning of Jonah narrate a typical mythological underworld experience. Jonah parallels Eleanor's struggle against England in S1 and S2, as well as Flint and Rackham fighting an England that pardons. It's a sea related story. The delirious dream hints that Rogers may have an inside-the-whale experience.
> 
> Cupid & Psyche - Eleanor feels lonely with the impossible task of keeping all the balls in the air. Like, Miranda tells Flint that he can't yet see that he's not alone, Eleanor is no truly alone either. Max attempts to help and support her several times. Though Eleanor sees the legend as one lover forgiving the other one's flaw, Rogers gives the psychological interpretation of self-love through forgiving yourself.
> 
> Max as Orual: C.S. Lewis's wrote a modern retelling of the legend ("Till We Have Faces",1956) narrated by Psyche's sister Orual. Classically, Psyche's sisters urge her to betray her husband out of envy. Lewis has Orual urge Psyche out of love for Psyche. When Orual visits Psyche, she sees no palace, no riches, only a bare mountain top and thinks Psyche dillusional. Making Psyche see the "truth", she causes Psyche's banishment from her mountain god. Orual meets the mountain god herself, and angrily blames the gods for not showing the truth sooner. While Psyche wanders alone, Orual acquires all sorts of skills, becomes queen, but she is forever alone. When old she hears her sister's legend and how she's wrongfully portrayed as the evil, envious sister. She dreams of having to do the same tasks as Psyche and realizes she was envious of the gods getting to enjoy Psyche's love. Psyche opens the box of beauty for a dying Orual, while the mountain god descends to be with Psyche. Twice the god tells Orual that she "too will be Psyche". The first time, Orual thinks it means she will suffer like Psyche. The second time she understands it means being forgiven. 
> 
> Max's motivations appear to others as envy of Eleanor's power and blond-blue-eyed white status. In truth she is envious of the island and Rogers who get to have Eleanor's love. She hopes to advize Eleanor against having an affair with Rogers, but the opposite happens. And when she tries to be a friend and equally get Eleanor away from Rogers' regime, Eleanor distances herself from Max. She herself says "in this moment I am you". Both Eleanor and Anne Bonny are attached to their man. Max became the Queen of the Street and chairwoman of the Nassau council, but she feels very lonely.


	30. Jonah

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eleanor sorts through all her thoughts and feelings to weigh her choices and strives to make a responsible decision. She empowers the Commodore with the legal abilities to set up a Vice Admiralty Court. Charles Vane is tried and judged at Fort Nassau. Max watches the drama enfold.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter basically fills in the gap between Eleanor leaving the tavern and the men starting to build the gallows: Eleanor's decision process, her visit to Woodes and expressing her hope he will understand, setting the machinations of the trial at work, and Vane's trial.

As Eleanor left the tavern and strode back to the mansion, her mind and feelings were all over the place - fear for the implications, anger over the unjust portrayal of her and using it for an agenda, revolt at being prevented from moving, and hatred for Charles. She paid no attention to the people she passed. Never saw them, never heard them. And she barely knew what to do, until she remembered Flint in her office arguing over the madman in the Fort. She had defended her choice to prevent Hornigold from taking back the fort. “I had to make a quick judgment. And in the moment it was clear that the sacrifice it would have taken to get him out of that fort was simply too great.” But those lies of course, not just lies she told others, but herself as well.

Flint had turned away from her. “A Spanish warship fell upon us before we'd found our way to the Urca. At that point, Mr. Gates' faith in our mission... his faith in me was lost.” There had been something in his voice, something that had made her still and afraid. He was changed and there was something dark about it. He sat down, and looked at her, and confessed to killing Mr. Gates, who had been his ally on the _Walrus_ for as long as she could remember, his closest friend, a man that Flint had loved.

“Eleanor. Where are you?” Mr. Scott’s voice echoed in Eleanor’s mind. “You need to ask yourself what you want, where your loyalties are... and whom do you trust?”

Something about Max bothered Eleanor immensely, but she could not directly name it. It was as if she trusted and distrusted Max both at the same time. _How can I feel both? Intuition_ , she reminded herself. _But which one of the two is correct? How did I figure out Teach in the bay that day!_ She knew where she was that day, what she wanted and to whom she was loyal - she wanted Woodes to succeed, Nassau to be civilized, and she had hardly spared a thought for Charles at all, despite the fact that she expected him to end up either killed by other pirates or soldiers. _Think, Eleanor, you can think your way through it. Why do I trust Max_? Thrice now Max had warned her – about the soldier’s gossip, the spy, people blaming Eleanor - and twice Max had advised Eleanor to protect her from harm. It was sound advice. And yet, Eleanor was reluctant to follow it.

 _Why do I distrust Max? What bothered me so when Max spoke about how they would survive the illness, Flint and Spain?_ The spy had distressed her not half as much as Max’s words prior to that. Max sounded like she was preparing for a Nassau where the English adventure would come to an end soon. _Max thinks of her own survival, _and__ _mine_ , Eleanor realized, _but not the new regime, not Woodes_. _Max betted on two horses before._ _Max said she was me now._ And in a way she was. It was Max who needed Mr. Scott’s words now. _But who I was then is not who I am now._ Eleanor cared for Woodes – he had to live and lead this island. Woodes had to survive his illness, Flint and the Spanish threat and Nassau was to remain a civilized English Nassau. _The Pirate’s Republic is done, just like Charles._

What had happened on the beach on the day of Woodes’ arrival could not be undone. Sure, there might be sympathizers with Flint and Charles who spied for them, men who loved to hate her, men who’d lend their nostalgic ear. But ultimately the majority of pirates had chosen for a normal life off the account – work in the day and be with their lass in the evening and earn enough to take her out. There had been a few weddings too the past week. If given a year, it would probably be Christenings as well. Even if the first wave of Englishmen could be potentially dead in another two months, the majority of Nassau would hate going back on the account. They were just men, not fanatics like Charles.

 _But that does not mean_ , Eleanor reminded herself, _that they cannot create a shitstorm of trouble as well as cost us unnecessary lives_. Eleanor frowned. She was thinking in fishwife language again. She even had slipped back into using the word fuck in her speech to Max. It would not do, not to the English, not to the street, not to Max.

Her intuition told her that Jacob Garrett’s rallying of the discontent was orchestrated by Flint’s men on the island to buy time in order to rescue Charles . Any failure to hang the pirate who stole the cache would fuel suspicions from Spain against Woodes. More, it was all too clear what Charles himself would do if he managed to be free again. He would do what he always did –kill his rival, kill Woodes. And there was just no chance in hell that Eleanor would ever allow Vane to get close enough to Woodes again to even try.

In her mind, Eleanor saw Flint sitting on that chair, revealing his murder of Mr. Gates. “I had to use my judgment whether to let him abort our entire endeavor and see my plans, your plans, evaporate or to stop him. I stopped him.”

“What did you do?” she had asked, trembling.

“What was necessary. Because I knew that the future of this place is everything. And that there is no sacrifice too great to secure that future. I thought you and I were in agreement about that.”

Eleanor swallowed. Even when awake, Woodes was not of sound mind to guide her. It fell on all her. She had to use her own judgment. Eleanor wished she could ship Charles off the island, but Max suggested to do the trial here. Woodes had wanted to protect her from having blood on her hands. She had her chance to strangle him herself, and she could not go through with it. _It felt like revulsion, but perhaps love stayed my hands?_ For herself, for Woodes, maybe even for him, still, like it had kept her from allowing Hornigold to retake the Fort through the tunnels, like it had set her against Flint destroying the fort around him.

And then there was the street. The last thing Woodes would want is to lose it and why he had been against a pirate swinging from a noose in Nassau. But if Jacob could work the crowd like he did in mere twenty minutes, it would be hundred times worse in another four days. Eleanor shuddered at the memory of the street crowding in front of her tavern doors as Lilywhite went on and on and on. _And what will I have to do then? Send the soldiers against the street?_ Well, they might just pack everything up, sail back to London and hand the island back to the pirates to let them deal with Spain. Then Woodes would be in debtor’s jail and she would hang. _Perhaps they will allow us to share a moment or two in a cell in Newgate_ , Eleanor thought sarcastically.

Max was right. Holding a trial here would be the lesser evil. Its outcome though was a certainty. Unless the jury consisted of Charles’ crewmates and allies, any judge or jury would find him guilty. The penalty for high seas piracy was hanging, and gibbeting for an infamous pirate. No matter how impersonal Eleanor could keep the trial, those who wished to scapegoat Eleanor would always hold Eleanor responsible for it. There would always be ears and minds willing to be swayed by such talk. She had not once made a move against anyone on the island here, since her return, and yet still they would call her a tyrant. She could take a skiff now and sail for Port Royal, and some people would still blame her. Eleanor would be a fool to believe otherwise.

So, it was like Jonah and the Whale. She had to accept her fate and perform the dreadful task – see that justice prevailed and hang the pirate who had once been her lover, here in Nassau. _Charles has to die, and I will make it happen._ Except, in this story there would be no repentance and no mercy. Eleanor had decided, had judged, and would do what was necessary, and there was no sacrifice too great to secure the future of a civilized Nassau. And possibly maybe if she did this, she would cease to be the allotted Jonah the seamen blamed for storms.

There was no time to lose. Teach would not learn of Vane’s capture before the next day. It would require another three days for Teach to threaten Nassau. That gave her at most four days. Nobody knew whether Hornigold had succeeded or failed, or whether he was still alive even. It might only be a matter of days before Flint came to the rescue. As she walked into the hallway, she called out to Perkins. “Lieutenant, could you send messengers to all the senior councilors and the Commodore to convene for an emergency meeting, as soon as possible. I want them all here within the hour. And I want the lawyers here too.”

“What about the Nassau councilors?” asked Perkins.

“That won’t be necessary for the moment. They cannot inform us of English colonial law.” She lifted her skirts and climbed the stairs, through the corridor, passing his guards, into his office and opened the door to his bedroom. Blinds filtered the light attacking the western windows. The room's temperature was rising, with the sun glaring on the west wing, and with the doors and windows closed. Woodes still lay still like the dead, in a feverish sleep, helpless and unable to help her. Dr. Marcus had told her to keep him covered under a blanket, but she wondered, what with his fever, whether the heat of his surroundings just did not make it worse. Mrs. Hudson was reading on a chair in the corner of the room, next to a small table and an empty teacup. “Any change?” Eleanor asked.

Mrs. Hudson lowered her book into her lap. “No.”

“May I have a moment with him, please?”  Eleanor waited for Mrs. Hudson to lay her book down, get up and walk out. She looked behind her to make sure Mrs. Hudson had left the neighboring office as well, before she approached Woodes’ bed. She sat on the bedside and rested one hand on his heart. His shirt was clammy of sweat, and yet the rumbling of his heart felt comforting. So did the feel of the sprinkle of hair where his shirt left his chest bare. She lay her other hand on his wrist and caressed it with her thumb, hoping for some response. _Or is it to soothe him?_ His breathing became instantly more agitated.  “I warned you,” she said with regret. “The closer you let me get to you, the more dangerous I would be.” She sighed and shook her head. “I've never given a damn what people think of me. But I give a damn what you think. I hope that when you wake, you will understand why I did what I did, you will see that it was all I could think to do to protect you the only way I know how.”

Eleanor sat back and let his heart go. She rose from his bedside, went to her own room and threw the window open, letting the fragrances of green and ripe fruit freshen the room. While she had Dyson see to it that arrangements were made for the council, she freshened herself up, splashed water into her face, changed her dress into the red one with the embroidered roses, pinched her cheeks while she looked into the mirror with the crack, and made sure that not a hair on her head lay astray. She walked to the parlor and opened the bottom drawer of the little cabinet desk and carefully took out an envelope that had been sealed with Woodes’ stamp. She weighed it in her hand. It felt light as a feather, but its consequences would be like a boulder dropping on Nassau.

Of course, Eleanor had a personal interest in wanting Charles dead and it had everything to do with her father’s murder. And though, she did not care what Nassau would think of her when she dropped that boulder, Eleanor could not wholly deny that she was incensed with the troublemakers, for not recognizing what kind of ordeal and sacrifices she had endured just to be alive and useful, at the side of the governor whom they all had embraced. She felt disdain for their ungratefulness. If it was not for her and Woodes, they could all have been killed or hanged. She had been proud of herself when she set aside the past and the petty, even partially over Charles Vane, all in their interest to prevent them from being killed in a Spanish raid. But they did not recognize that and instead questioned her motives. She had not done it for them, nor ever tried to convince them that she had changed. Still, it hurt when people were so prejudiced and scapegoated her for their own selfish ends. A voice whispered to her, reasonably, “Show these men what it is they are asking for. Give them exactly what they want and demand and make them feel forever sorry for having done so. Show them what happens if you truly use the authority that is in your hands. So, that they might never demand it again.”

Eleanor recognized that dark voice, cloaked in reason, that tried to compel her to act instinctively. It was what made her break up with Charles after recovering from the complications of her aborted pregnancy. It had made her depose Charles from his captaincy when he had his crew gang-rape Max. It made her help Anne Bonny dispose of Max's rapists. It convinced her to send assassins to kill Rackham and his crew. It was there now too. And she could not just simply wish it away. When she had followed her intuition it tended to have positive results. When she had acted out her dark instincts, she had lost everything. So, for a moment she wondered whether her darkness was feigning to be intuition. _Instinct or intuition?_

“And what if it were both?” Miranda Hamilton whispered seductively to her in her mind. “What if you know to be the right thing to do is also something that gives you some measure of satisfaction?” 

She closed her eyes for a moment and took a deep breath. _Let it be both then, and by god I hope it will work out in the end. The final proof that civilization has come to Nassau._ Eleanor straightened her stomacher and her petticoat, raised her head high, and floated through the corridor, gracefully and elegantly, like a woman of state, down the stairs to the Assembly Hall, where Woodes councilors had started to gather. Commodore Chamberlain stood more to the side and watched her with pursed lips and his head to the side.

Eleanor smiled at them all with her lips pressed together. Scribes took their seats and Eleanor nodded at Perkins and Dyson so that they would make sure they would not be disturbed during this meeting or unwanted ears would accidentally drop in. “Gentlemen, thank you for coming so quickly.”

Anxiously, Mr. Soames said, “Has something happened to the governor? Is his state worsening?”

“I assure you that the governor is resting, safe and sound. There is no cause for alarm, in that respect,” she answered him. “But there is trouble brewing in Nassau, against the governor over the pirate Charles Vane, whom we all know helped to steal the cache, freed Rackham and attacked the governor with the intent to kill him. We risk losing the street. And the governor would wish to avoid that at all cost.” She could hear the scratching of the pens on paper as the clerks wrote.

Chamberlain squinted at her. “What trouble is this? Are you suggesting to let him go?”

“No, absolutely not. Quite the opposite actually. The governor wants Charles Vane to be taken before court, but also keep the street.”

“So, what is the word on the street then?” asked Mr. Blight.

“They want Captain Vane to be tried here, in Nassau, in the open, and see whether law and order is applied correctly and justly with their own eyes.”

“But that may require weeks,” said Mr. Hardyng. “There is no commission appointed yet, no Vice Admiral court set up, no prosecutor.” Colonel Richards mumbled in consent.

Since 1700 the law allowed colonies to set up their own courts to hold piracy trials, instead of sending them to the Admiralty in England. Before that, it was so troublesome to extradite a pirate that most governors just let a pirate go free again. But Henry Avery’s actions against the Mogul pushed the new law through in Whitehall. Vice Admiral Courts were then set up with seven or more colonial official commissioners who would judge the accused. It did away with the pesky and risky civil jury, but still allowed for witness testimony to be brought forward. However, it was the appointment of these commissioners that required extensive approval and thus time – time they did not have.  

Eleanor stared at the frowns and the squinting eyes of the men and noted the nervous tapping of Mr. Soames on the meeting table. “Which is why I brought all you smart men together." She laid the letter inconspicuously down on the table and placed both her hands on the meeting table, fingers spread and leaned slightly forward. "Captain Vane must be tried quickly, preferably between now and two days. We believe that instigators riled the street on purpose to give Flint or Teach time and chance to rescue him. Regardless of the reasons of the agitators, once a mob mentality is created, then all the hard work done so far will be for nothing, and brave soldiers sacrificed their lives for nothing.” She looked at Chamberlain. “Am I correct, Commodore, that if you were named as the local Vice Admiral you would have the power to appoint a judge?”

“Yes,” said Chamberlain. "But-"

Eleanor walked around the large meeting table, taking the letter with her. “I propose that the Commodore is given the local rank of Vice Admiral and sets up a Vice Admiral Court with a jury of twelve civilians and have one judge. We use the old civil act that demands for a trial by jury, but apply the new law’s right to hold a trial here.”

“It is unprecedented.” Mr. Blight turned to face her. “But this could only be done if the governor has the crown’s approval to elevate the Commodore’s rank locally and if the governor actually signs such an appointment. Is this the case? Is the governor willing to do this?”

Eleanor slid the sealed letter across the table, until it lay at the center of it. “The governor has the crown’s approval and already signed such an appointment, yesterday.”

Chamberlain snatched the letter and broke the governor’s seal. In the silent Assembly Hall where plumes had ceased to scratch, Eleanor heard the seal break and the rustling of the letter as it slid against the envelope, as Chamberlain took it out. After Perkin’s visit the evening before, Woodes had been agitated about the possibility that he might be incapacitated for perhaps as long as a week while they might have to war against Flint and mount a defense against Spain. Even though the Commodore already had the power to command fleet and troops in England’s interest, the appointment as temporary local Vice Admiral would give Chamberlain the extra legal stretch to function as an official bound to the Bahamas, and not just England. Woodes had intended it solely for military purposes, but he had explained by the by what other advantages it would give the Commodore with regards to courts of the Admiralty. And Eleanor had remembered it. In the absence of a Rear Admiral and Vice Admiral he had the legal authority to act as one, without the pay, the stripes and title that came with it. It could however improve his chances to be promoted in the future. The declaration was written in her hand, but dated and signed by Woodes. It had been the last thing Woodes had done, after he had made her promise to only use it if she saw the need for it. Shortly after, he fell asleep and never truly came to consciousness again for long enough time. Baffled, Chamberlain passed the document on to the lawyers and clerks for confirmation on the signature and dating.

The lawyers commented that, “With this document Commodore Chamberlain can appoint a judge within a minute. A trial can be held this evening even, certainly tomorrow.”

Things happened quickly after that. Lawyers drafted documents to appoint a judge and a prosecutor. The trial itself was to be held in Fort Nassau’s courtyard. The clerk’s census and Eleanor’s updated list of citizens on the island who had never been on the account was used to select members of the jury. She also gave them a list of men who had accepted pardons but once had been forced into piracy by Vane when their ships had been captured by him. Draft letters were dispatched with haste and the men on the _Shark_ were ordered to stand down. 

The first thing the appointed prosecutor asked her was whether she was willing to press charges about her father’s murder and testify against Charles Vane. “I cannot,” she said. “I am in function as the eyes and ears for the governor. I represent him. I should not be involved at all in any way with making it a trial about my father or myself.”

“I understand you may not wish to be a witness, but there were plenty of witnesses to the finding of his body and Vane’s accompanying letter.”

Eleanor shook her head. “Please leave my father’s murder out of it altogether. He ought to be tried and found guilty for piracy, not the murder of a man who was a fugitive himself in the eyes of the law. There is simply too much personal history between Captain Vane, myself and my father and it would turn it into a trial of settling scores over the past.” Eleanor shook her head. She shuddered at the idea. “This is to be a trial of principle, sir, for it will be the very first time ever that Nassau will see a man hanged here, a pirate who was admired and feared by many for his prowess.” She licked her lips. “Beg pardon for my language, but to put it very bluntly – who drank, killed and fucked along with them for many years. A fortnight ago, the islanders sighed in relief when the universal pardon was read to them on the beach.” Eleanor thought amazed - _Is it only that little while ago?_  “We all believed we would be spared the sight of a hanging, including myself. Unfortunately, that is impossible. So, if there is to be a hanging of the famous Charles Vane as an unrepentant pirate, then piracy ought to be the sole charges he is found guilty on. Such a verdict supports those who accepted the pardons in the first place.”

The prosecutor nodded. “Yes, I see your point.” He sighed. “I just thought it might make it easier.”

“This trial, its verdict and its punishment is as historical for Nassau as Woodes’ universal pardon. I do not expect such a thing to be easy. And it is our fervent hope that we would never need to hang someone else after this, ever again.”

It was the dead of night, just after the hours of first sleep, when Charles Vane was lifted out of his cell and brought into the courtyard for his trial. His boots crunched on the sand. His chains chimed and rankled as he moved. “What is this?” said he, looking around at the twelve men of the jury that had just been sworn in on the bible, while he was made to stand on a makeshift platform in the middle of the courtyard with at least ten sentries surrounding it. He looked up to the ramparts where fifty soldiers stood in readiness, and met Eleanor’s eye as she stood next to the Commodore.

A guard banged his weapon on the makeshift plank floor “All rise, for the honorable Judge Adams.”

The newly appointed judge sat down behind a raised desk placed on the spot where Eleanor’s father had been found crucified. It was the sole personal touch she had allowed herself. Charles lifted his eyes and looked at her when the judge was seated. Eleanor gave him a curt nod in admittance of what she had done. _Yes, Charles, you will be judged and condemned to die from the spot where you crucified my father._ He grinned and shifted his eyes back to the judge.

“This court has convened to try Captain Charles Vane, from Virginia, allegedly thirty five years of age, for the capital crimes of high seas piracy,” read the same guard from his paper.

Though a near full moon shone bright, so that Eleanor could see Nassau town and the bay clearly from the parapet, the fort itself threw a dark gloom across the courtyard. She had arranged for several lines of sentries holding torches to make for light, but the dancing flames threw odd shaped orange glows on the walls, and only stressed the contrast with the dark corners and doorways where the light could not reach. Her vantage point not only gave her a spectacular oversight of the courtyard, but it helped her to detach from the proceedings. She could hear the far-away screech of a night hunter catching it prey, the gentle sound of waves rolling onto a beach, the many crickets in the bushes around the fort or hiding in the cracks of stone. But most of all, up here, the air smelled fresh and of the sea.

The doors were open for a short while. As the news spread in town that a trial was being held at the fort, citizens rushed out of town, leaving the tavern, the whorehouse or their beds, and ventured on the hill. Up to fifty citizens were allowed to come inside and witness the trial first hand. The guards stationed on the bulwark would make sure that none of those would try anything.

Mrs. Mapleton knocked on Max’s door and interrupted her in the middle of her orgasm that Georgia was helping her reach. Frazzled and still gasping for breath, Max opened the door, covering her sweaty breasts with her gown. “What is it?”

“You better see this for yourself, M’am. Everybody is leaving for the fort. Word is out on the street that they’re holding Captain Vane’s trial there, right this very minute.”

Max widened her eyes. “What? Now?” _How the hell had Eleanor done that?_ Max dressed quickly and hastened to the fort where a huge crowd had started to gather in front of it.

People passed on what was said by the lawyers and judge, while standing on the tips of their toes in the hope to catch a glimpse. Max searched for Eleanor in the mass of people inside, but could not find her. When she looked up though, she saw Eleanor on the walls, in a red dress, beside the commodore and other high ranking officers of the new regime. Eleanor stood stiffly, visibly present for the people inside and outside, and yet as far removed from the court dealings as the circumstances allowed her to be. And that red dress drew the eye like a bullseye. _What is Eleanor doing? Is Eleanor like she was when she sent the assassins to Rackham and Featherstone?_ Max was not so sure of that. Eleanor seemed both drawn into herself and distant, and yet not actually isolated or cold. She was very visibly present, and yet not there at all, like someone doing her duty, but absent in mind. But when someone spoke to Eleanor, she seemed to answer them calmly and attentively. Max wished that Eleanor had warned her, so that she could talk with her, stand with her possibly and find out what she was. 

A man had crawled on the shoulders of others and related to them as much as he could. “The judge just asked whether Vane wishes to call his own witnesses forward in his defense to prove his innocence.”

“What did he say?” cried a woman standing beside Max.

“He said nothing! Just shook his head in silence.” Then he yelled. “The jury just left to discuss the eye witness accounts of the prosecution.” And not long afterwards. “The jury’s back!”

“Already?” shouted several people. Max started to beg the people before her to let her through.

“Guilty! They say he’s guilty!”

People were still running up the hill like a flood to learn what the bloody hell was happening, shouting questions. But those already there shushed them and were silent. They all wanted to hear the judge’s decision, to hear the words of the hanging for themselves. It was like watching a ship that was in trouble in a storm from ashore, knowing that very minute people were drowning, and yet it was impossible to look away. Finally, Max could see Charles Vane on the raised platform with her own eyes. He stood stoically, ignoring the prosecutor, the judge and stared up into the sky at Eleanor who did not look at him in return.

“Captain Charles Vane,” Max heard the judge say loud and clear. His voice echoed around the walls. “You are adjudged and sentenced to be carried back to your cell, thence to the place of execution on the market square tomorrow morning, to be hanged by the neck till you are dead, and may the Lord, in His infinite wisdom, have mercy upon your soul. After this you shall be taken down and your body tarred and hanged in chains.”

Max clasped her hand before her mouth at the tragedy enfolding. _Goddamn, Charles_ , Max thought, _you should never have returned!_ _Why couldn’t you just leave her be? Oh, Eleanor what did you do?_

Featherstone appeared next to her, leaning on his knees as he tried to catch his breath after running all the way from his home. “I just heard!” he wheezed. “Why did you not tell me?”

Max looked at him as if he thought her a fool. _Why would I tell you anything if you conspire with Flint and Vane, make Idelle spy for you?_ _Maybe that is why Eleanor did not warn me beforehand_ , she realized for a split second. Max said, “That man standing beside Eleanor, the Commodore, was left in charge by the governor to appoint a judge and install a provisionary court. Goodnight, Mr. Featherstone.” She turned to leave the hill, but took a last worried look at Eleanor standing on the stockade. _Captain Charles Vane, tried and found guilty in the same courtyard he crucified her father_. As she walked through the empty street back home, she noticed timber being carried to the market square. “What is that for?” she asked the men.

“A gallows, M’am.”

A chill ran down Max’s spine. _A gallows here in Nassau, for the first time since anyone here could remember, to hang a pirate, and not just any pirate, but Captain Charles Vane. Flint will flip!_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Decision process: integrates S2 fragments of Eleanor learning about Flint murdering Mr. Gates for the cause, and Mr. Scott urging her to find out what she wants. The trial and (later hanging) of Charles Vane becomes the equivalent of Flint's murder of Mr. Gates. As this cannot be a clear process from A to B, Eleanor weighs it each time again, even after she knows what she has to do. No decision like that should or imo even could be purely reasonable, purely objective, purely vengeful, purely "I'll show you", nor even clear-cut or a straight thinking path. I think the show-runners intended it to be a mature decision that includes the complete range of aims, because it lacks the rashness of S1 when she deposes Vane, is not secretely done with Anne to kill Max's rapists, and not as coldly and hateful as the assassination team. 
> 
> Flint's "darkness" speech: Flint explains to Silver how the "darkness" makes you want to "punish" someone with rationalisations, the same night of Vane's trial. It would be a lie to portray Eleanor as having made that choice without having some type of personal satsifaction out of it. Eleanor admits and recognizes this all on her own, since she is not new to it anymore (unlike Silver). Eleanor has had authority over Nassau, and has used darkness several times to "punish" pirates. While I have Eleanor trying to reach for the light, hoping to avoid the darkness altogether, the situation simply does not let her. "There's no leaving it behind." So, she recognizes its existence (like Flint) and questions whether its influence makes her decision wrong. Miranda answers, for she is the sole character (aside from Rogers) who could answer that question. Since Rogers is a love interest, Eleanor would not consider him an objective voice in that moment. Miranda is also a mother-figure, normally Flint's, and a far darker mother than Eleanor's mother could be. In the thought process I also have Eleanor occasionally think of Charles as Vane or Captain Vane, to indicate she's starting to build an emotional distance. 
> 
> Empowering Chamberlain: Featherstone mentioned a judge and a jury. Vice Admiral Courts were courts of several professional judges, without a civil jury, used at the colonies (depicted in S4, and Flint's trial at Charleston). Only in London pirates could still have a trial with a jury and judge. Vice Admiral Courts and its lack of jury and professional English judges with no attachment to the colonly whatsoever are partly the reason of the uprising against England by the American colonies. So, the historical colonial court system conflicts with the canon data we get about the trial from Featherstone in S3. So, I made something up where Chamberlain gets to have a temporary local Vice-Admiral title (Rogers' father in law was made local Rear-Admiral in Jamaica) and thus have someone with an Admiral title to approve of the unprecedented jury trial with an appointed judge. I haven't the foggiest whether my trick even remotely works legally in a historical sense. 
> 
> Jonah: Eleanor parallels the task that is thrust upon her, whether she likes it or not, and Jonah's task. Eleanor is also like "a Jonah" - the person sailors think brings "bad luck" and becomes the scapegoat of the crew. Each time a lot is drawn to blame someone, she'll be blamed. No matter what she does, how she acts, they're going to blame and hate her. In a way, she expects to be sacrificed in the long term. It certainly costs Vane's life, but Eleanor is willing to sacrifice her own life.


	31. Death

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Charles Vane is brought to the gallows. Captain Hornigold returns to Nassau bringing news of Flint having allied with maroons. Eleanor not only learns that Mr. Scott has been alive all this time, but that he abandoned her and chose to be her enemy. Preparations are made to muster a large force to battle Flint.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: major (graphic) character death

Eleanor felt rather unreal ever since the verdict. She knew it had happened, and yet a part of her believed that when she woke in the morning, she would learn that Flint had rescued Charles. Some men simply seemed too big in life to die like this, let alone for her to have set it in motion and finish it. Charles was not just Charles, the murdered of her father and former lover. He was Captain Charles Vane, one of the most notorious pirates of the Caribbean, a peerless fighter who stood for complete freedom. He was not in it for revenge, nor to get rich. He was the pirate of pirates, a lion who kept no den, a living legend. And when he was dead, it would be the true beginning of the end of the pirate era in Nassau. There was simply no other pirate like him. It seemed far more real that all these past months were just one long dream, and she would wake in her cell in Newgate and be taken to Wapping herself.

She was momentarily disorientated when she woke with the sun  in her eyes, before she remembered she had slept in her own room. Not particularly because she had wanted to, but upon her return from the trial, Dr. Marcus said, “He is still delirious and very much disorientated when he wakes.” Dr. Marcus smiled apologetically at her. “For the moment, I think it is best that his caretakers are servants he knows from London or Bristol. He tends to believe he is in England whenever he wakes.” He patted her hand. “And you need your rest too, Miss Guthrie.”

Eleanor threw her windows to the garden open and smelled the sweet fragrances of mango. It made her smile. Then she ordered hot water to be brought up so she could bathe. She opened her robe that she had Mrs. Hudson make for her, lifted her chemise and stepped into the tub filled with hot water. As she laid her head back when she eased in the water, she felt somewhat guilty. Here she was, soaking, preparing herself to supervise a hanging, while the gallows was being assembled. Even in the room farthest away from the square, she could hear the carpenters hammering. Meanwhile pastor Lambrick must have been with Charles to hear his confession around that time. Not that she believed that Charles would ever confess his crimes, let alone repent.

When she came down in her red dress to break her fast, the court official approached her. “It was a good speech you wrote, Miss Guthrie. I made a few changes here and there though. I hope you don’t mind.”

“No, as long as you do not use _law and order_ as a phrase.” She met Chamberlain, Mr. Soames, judge Adams and members of the council on the steps outside of the mansion, who inquired after the governor’s condition. She said, “The governor is still in need of bed rest,” Eleanor said. “But Dr. Marcus will inform us when that situation changes. Gentlemen,” she inclined her head at them as they stepped aside.

The carpenters finished the construction of the gallows, as Max crossed the square and approached her. Eleanor met Max’s searching gaze and for a moment felt uncomfortable. Max had a wry expression around her mouth, and her eyes were dark like a mother intending to scold her child. Eleanor shifted unsure with her shoulders as she made room for Max to stand next to her, trying to find an appropriate stance. It was far easier to behave and talk formally to Englishmen than to Max, at least now that they had grown to a new understanding between each other.

Max heaved her breath and said, “When the governor arrived and the island embraced him, a bargain was struck. Authority was ceded, in exchange for which the law returned. Law, which constrained that authority, made outcomes more predictable.  But this outcome would seem most unpredictable.”

Max’s own formal address to her, made it far easier for Eleanor to adapt it. “The law was adhered to,” Eleanor said calmly, her eyes on the carpenters.

“If the bargain changes, there is no telling what else will change as a result.” Max’s words made Eleanor look at her sideways. “What trust may be lost and what chaos may abound.” Max licked her lips and leaned closer. “I am your friend,” she said softly. “And I will help you weather whatever challenges may lie down whatever road you may choose, but as your friend, I am simply asking you to consider how treacherous this road may be, while there is still time to avoid it.”

Eleanor frowned. _Yes, Max, you are my friend, but not this regime’s. Chaos is inevitable._ Chaos was what Charles, Flint and Rackham intended to deliver to Nassau. The surest way to harm them in their abilities was to kill Charles, the only man who had the guts to steal into Nassau by stealth. “No one is taking this decision lightly, I assure you,” she said mechanically. “This is no attempt to circumvent the law. Indeed, the governor felt that it was necessary in order to _protect_ it.” She sighed. “It was a hard choice. But an earnest one.”

Max blinked several times and swallowed. _Eleanor is going through with it. Nothing can deter her._ She feared for Eleanor, how she inevitably made herself a target of the pirates’ hatred and Nassau would never be the same after this. Eleanor had never seen a man hang, but Max had. Port Royal had been a pirate haven once. With the increasing presence of British navy, Jamaica began to apply a strict anti-piracy policy, and the English reveled in making a spectacle of hanging a pirate. The low drop was entirely different than her father who had hanged thieves from a high gallows. From a high gallows the snap of the noose would break a man’s neck rather than suffocate him. But not so with the pirate’s noose. _Le dance macabre_. It could take minutes before a man died from suffocation, trashing their legs in the air. Max had seen men, strong as an ox and brave as lions, sob and pee their pants at such hangings. She looked down at her feet. _And yet we all wished it upon Eleano_ r, she thought guiltily.

It seemed like time crawled ever so slowly forward at a snail’s pace, and yet even that was too fast. A part of Eleanor was never there, while another was ever present. Some of it she would later only remember hazily, but what she remembered was sharper than any other memory. The bells chimed the summoning to the market square of the commencement of the execution, as the cart wheeled onto the square with Charles in chains. People shouted names and threw dirt and lettuce at the oncoming cart. And yet she was deaf to it. She met his eyes, as the cart turned the corner and passed by the mansion’s steps. _Only you and I, now_ , his eyes seemed to say and her mind whispered to him. The cart halted underneath the gallows and, shackled, Charles was helped to his feet.

“When our lord governor arrived here, he promised you things,” shouted the court official, standing on the steps behind the gallows, trying to be heard over the noise of the crowd crying for Charles’ blood. “Order! Prosperity!”  
  
“Do it!” yelled a woman like a fishwife as others booed Charles Vane. Eleanor only saw his profile, hunched shoulders and sharp nose. His preening eyes roamed across the heads of those who shouted for his death.

“Men who are not men at all,” said the officials. “But beasts governed by the base instinct, incapable of anything but the most primal behaviors. A constant threat to every decent, God-fearing citizen among us. As long as those men roam free, strife will endure, fear will abound, and progress will elude us.” Charles glanced at her across the distance, accusing. He knew which words of the speech were hers.

“Today marks the silencing of the most disruptive of those voices and a step towards the return of civilization in Nassau. But we must always remember - however strong the need for the removal of these traitors, these relics of a more savage age - there is no relish in this moment, but there is righteousness and comfort in the knowledge that justice is at hand. And that God's will will be done again in Nassau!”

The crowd hailed even louder than before. “Bastard! Hang him!” hollered a man.

“Does the condemned have anything to say before the sentence is carried out?” asked the court official.

Charles met her eyes again. As much as she had avoided looking at him during the court, Eleanor had only eyes for him now. It would be the last minutes she would see him alive. She had empowered the English regime to do it here, today, and had to see it through until the very end. She feared she would never believe the outcome otherwise. Charles looked away from her and at the hateful crowd. “These men who brought me here today do not fear me.” He spoke calmly, and hardly raised his voice.

“We’ve had enough!” yelled a man pointing at Charles over the crowd’s hullabaloo.

“They brought me here today because they fear you. Because they know that my voice, a voice that refuses to be enslaved, once lived in you. And may yet still.” The booing and shouting stopped. The crowd had grown silent and listened. Only now did Charles raise his raspy voice. “They brought me here today to show you _death_ and use it to frighten you into ignoring that voice. But know this. We are many! They are few. To fear death is a choice.” He glanced at her again for a short moment. “And they can't hang us all.” There was only silence. The sole sound on the square was that of the ocean wind and the waves breaking on the beach a distance away. Charles looked behind him and sniped, “Get on with it, motherfucker.”

The noose was put around his neck, and they turned him to face her. Across the sea of heads, they only saw each other. _Goodbye, Charles_ , she thought.

 _It was good once_ , his eyes seemed to say back, and then, s _ee you in hell, Eleanor_.  
  
“Proceed!” shouted the executioner, and another man pulled the horses that drew the cart into movement.

One, two, three steps was all he had before the cart disappeared from under his boots. She counted them. He dropped. A gasp traveled through the crowd like a rolling wave. The cord swung forward, backward, forward again. Eleanor heard its rasping swing echo in her dreams afterwards. And then the macabre dance of the hanged man in his death throes began. His chains rankled as his head jerked. The mob had grown into silent mourners. People looked away or nudged each other to leave the square. But Eleanor watched it all. She wanted to see this lion die.

Max looked up at Eleanor before her. She could read nothing from Eleanor's face, only that her focus was solely on Vane's death struggle. _What is going through her mind? Satisfaction? Nausea? Hatred? Or love after all?_

Men stepped toward Charles from the crowd and pulled at his legs to help him die faster. Eleanor had warned the regulars that if this was to happen that they should not intervene. And they did not. The faster it was done, the better. Some of the men in the crowd standing between her and Charles turned and stared at her, glowering. _Yes_ , she thought, _I executed him_.

It was done and the crowd dispersed. Even the council members on the steps began to leave. Eleanor was the last one standing, in honor of her father, the piracy age she once had known, the fate that would have been hers if not for Woodes, and also admittedly Charles himself. No matter how much she hated him, he was a formidable enemy, and finally dead. She had perhaps expected to feel something at such a moment. Victorious perhaps? Or maybe even some grief? But she only felt relief. She looked at the near empty square and heaved a deep breath.

Hornigold stood on the square with his crew, squinting at her. He approached with his new quartermaster in tow. “A hanging was not what I expected to come back to any time soon. Let alone Vane’s. I hope you know what you are about.”

Eleanor opened her mouth, but then decided not to bother. Maybe it provided more information about them what they thought of her than herself. “It's good to see you,” she said. Eleanor glanced one last time at Charles, before turning away and gestured Hornigold and his man to follow her inside. “Please, tell me that you managed to retrieve the cache from Flint.”

Hornigold sighed regretfully. “Not yet, no. Flint managed to stay ahead of me the whole time, but without outdistancing me. I thought I had him in my clutches, trapped at an island, two days sailing from here. But it’s a Maroon island. Flint has a small army of escaped slaves to defend the place. I was outnumbered. But the governor’s fleet and soldiers could certainly take it.”

She opened the door towards the salon and ordered Dyson to have some refreshments sent. Hornigold’s quartermaster closed the doors behind them as Ben indicated. Looking out onto the garden, Eleanor pondered the news of Flint having allied himself with Maroons. “Flint took the cache to a battle ground of his choice, knowing we need the cache to appease Spain. He would not have done so, unless he believed there was a chance he could win it.” She turned, holding her arms crossed in front of her, and met the men’s eyes seated in the longue chaise. “And yet we have to meet this challenge.”

Benjamin took off his hat, flung it on the coffee table and sighed. “Flint has the cache then . I feared so, when I saw launches making for the _Walrus_ through my spyglass four days ago.”

“Yes, and Rackham.” Realizing that Benjamin had no knowledge of all that had occurred on the island, since he sailed to intercept the _Walrus_ , Eleanor filled him in about the state of affairs, without lingering on Captain Vane. She sat down into single seat opposite of them. “Does Flint have a fleet? Or is it only the _Walrus_?”

“No fleet. Just a hundred escaped slaves and Flint’s crew.”

“Are you absolutely sure that Teach is not lying somewhere in wait at another bay?”

Hornigold chuckled. “Teach? He’s not coming off his beach at Ocracoke. Flint and Teach working together is as likely as euhm…”

“Flint and Charles teaming up?” she offered darkly.

The man huffed at that. “No, Teach was nowhere in sight in or around that island.” Dyson interrupted them with a tray of glasses and wine and lime water. As Hornigold’s quartermaster reached for a glass, Ben sent his man to meet with the crew and his militia. The man sighed and looked wistfully at the refreshment, but left. Hornigold sipped his glass of wine.“I had two days to think about this Maroon island, and I wondered what you believed to have happened to Mr. Scott?”

“Mr. Scott?” Eleanor gaped confused at Hornigold. “He is dead, drowned in that ship-killer storm with …” She lowered her voice and frowned. “Flint.” But Flint was not dead. And the _Walrus_ was apparently sea-worthy enough to outdo Benjamin. “Well, I assume he’s with Flint. Wasn’t he his quartermaster?” Until now, she had never realized that Mr. Scott and her might actually be at opposing sides.

Benjamin shook his head. “No, Silver is Flint’s quartermaster since Charles Town. Mr. Scott oversaw the repairs done by the slaves at Fort Nassau - the ones who escaped and killed two redcoats.” He put his glass back on the coffee table with a ching. “I saw him in the tavern after he signed for a pardon on the first day.”

“Mr. Scott is here?” Eleanor asked incredulously. W _hy did he not even come to see me?_

“It appears to me that he is not. He volunteered to find the escaped slaves that day. But I never saw him again.” Benjamin waved his hand. “I forgot about it. I don’t know why, but I did.” He leaned forward. “Now I cannot keep from wondering which island those slaves escaped to though. And how strange it is that I never saw or heard from Mr. Scott since then.”

“You think he helped them escape?”

“Well, someone conveniently forgot to close their pen during the chaos that day.”

“He wanted me to free Captain Bryson’s slaves too,” said Eleanor. “The consortium agreed to release the men. I bought the women’s freedom and took them into my service. You know Eme, right?”

Hornigold nodded. “Yes.” He met her eyes. “Here’s the real mystery. Why would a maroon army big enough to outnumber Flint and his crew trust a pirate and help him lure English to their island? I imagine they would prefer it if nobody knew they were even there.”

“You’re saying that Mr. Scott made such an alliance possible?” she said shocked. Hornigold lifted his eyebrows suggestively in answer. “Did he know I was in the governor’s service?”

“Not at the time, perhaps. But he would know by now.” That hurt. Mr. Scott had been her father for many years, the sole man she trusted throughout the years, even after he left her. And Eleanor had blamed herself for his leaving. Benjamin Hornigold reached for his tricorne and got up. “I can see that this news distresses you. I will not take up your time anymore. We both have arrangements to make.” Eleanor tried to get up, but Hornigold gestured there was no need for that. “I will return in an hour or two for navigational information you may need.”

Feeling numb, Eleanor sat in the salon alone for a while. Mr. Scott’s unexpected betrayal cut deeper than any other she had ever experienced in her life before. If he was alive, she had expected him to be proud of her. All those years he reminded her how selfish the pirates were, brutal and violent men. He never hid his dislike for Charles nor his distrust of Flint. He only joined Flint’s crew in favor of an arrangement with England. That Flint turned bitter over Miranda she could understand, but not Mr. Scott. She did not care about him helping escaped slaves. Hell, had he remained in Nassau, she would have done what she could to help him with his maroons. But the idea that he would ally with Flint and Charles to provoke the Spanish in raiding Nassau, while he lost his own daughter and wife during the Rosario Raid, was devastating. It was as if she was orphaned all over again.

Mrs. Hudson looked up from her book, when Eleanor entered when she sought to visit Woodes, hoping against hope for sign of improvement. “The hanging went rather well,” the spying chambermaid said with a small smile. “There was no rioting. No trouble.”

Eleanor shook her head. “They cheered at the verdict last night. They booed him at the start this morning.  Strange really. It’s almost as if people didn’t really care who he was. As long as someone was going to die. Like theater or a play.”

“And it did not unnerve you when they grew silent?”

“No. An execution is no reason for celebration.” She stretched her petticoat. “Perhaps it makes some of them reconsider in wanting to follow his fate.”

Mrs. Hudson got up and moved to her side. “You do not fear it might have stirred resentment and rebellion? As he said, you cannot hang all of Nassau.”

“True,” said Eleanor. “But there is only one Charles Vane. They may believe they are like him for a day, but tomorrow they will wake with a hangover and think differently.”

Mrs. Hudson indicated her head in the direction of Woodes.  “The governor came to, a while ago, and asked for water. But he’s still delirious. He murmured nonsense - something about a butterfly.” She stepped towards the doors. “I assume you wish some privacy, nevertheless.”

“Yes, thank you,” she said without paying any more attention to the woman. Eleanor only had eyes for the man sleeping so quietly and looking so pale. The skin under his eyes was dark and his cheek was more defined and shadowy. Eleanor took his hand first and caressed it. “Did I go too far? Or not far enough by not hunting for the rebels? Or will it just be right?” She closed her eyes and sagged her head. While she had sounded confident to Mrs. Hudson, Eleanor was unsure whether the hanging of Charles would have no negative influence in the street. All she was sure of was that Charles posed no further danger at least. “I wish you would wake,” she whispered. “It wasn’t supposed to be like this. Me having to make the decisions on my own. We were supposed to do this together. Partners, remember?”

Woodes was the sole person left in the world she had as an ally. And she could not even be sure of that, once he learned of her hanging Charles Vane. And if she made a mistake, if she failed him in retrieving the cache, if the fleet lost against Flint, then surely Woodes would abandon her. She already knew she was only a band-aid to forget his wife Sarah. _Please love me enough to forgive me, to understand_ , she begged _._ But how could she expect Woodes to love her enough, when Mr. Scott who had loved her like a father the past twelve years wished to see her killed in a Spanish raid. Her eyes brimmed with tears. Gently, she laid her head on his heart, just for a moment, swallowing away the bitter taste of Mr. Scott’s rejection. Woodes’ heart beat strongly, but fast and variably.

When she sat up again and her palm caressed his chest, Woodes whimpered and turned his head in his sleep, exposing the old scar to her sight. She trailed it gently with her knuckles. Though his eyes remained closed, he flinched at her touch. “Your scar was the first thing I loved about you.” She pulled her hand away, rose and left his room.

It was time to inform the commodore and the council. As this was military business away from Nassau, she had Perkins assemble the naval and military council members in the western office, which she meant to use as a strategy room. As soon as she informed them of the maroon island, Mr. Soames argued for raising the defenses against a Spanish raid. Eleanor only had to remind the others that the governor wanted them to do everything in their power to retrieve the cache first.

The commodore agreed. “A bunch of runaway slaves and one pirate crew. We outnumber them easily and have far more military discipline. It would take us less effort to deal with them than mount a defense against the Spanish.”

 “Very true,” Eleanor said. “Though I caution you to take Captain Flint serious as a tactician when you go out to meet him. He was a naval officer once, a former protégé of Admiral Hennessey.”

Eyebrows raised, Chamberlain pursed his lips. “So, the man will give us some good sport then.”

Just then, Hornigold arrived with his log and maps, detailing the coordinates of the island, the numbers he saw, the appearance and lay-out of the beach, the possible approaches within the bay. As the men discussed tactics and forces, just like her, Benjamin was wise enough to merely listen and not interfere. “How soon do you think you could be ready to sail out?” Eleanor finally asked by late afternoon.

“Three more days,” said Chamberlain.

“Good.” She glanced at Hornigold meaningfully. “Now, please excuse me gentlemen as I have other business to tend to. Captain Hornigold, we can let these tacticians pour over their plans.”

Taking her meaning, Benjamin gave her his opinion once they were out of English earshot. “Flint would have counted on the redcoats taking the beach. He knows the strategies, the drills. He can mount a defense to give himself time, but even Flint must know they will conquer the beach. It was wide and deep, all sand – perfect for the English to overtake.”

Eleanor and Hornigold agreed that Flint would have some back-up plan. “You must sail with them, Captain,” she said. “The commodore counts on his own tactics, but does not know this enemy. Flint is prepared for the soldiers we have. So, we must send more.”

Hornigold pumped his chest. “My men were already told to stand at the readiness.” But then he frowned and shrugged his shoulders. With a regretting smile, he said, “Flint would include my crew in his numbers as well, however. And then there are the Maroons.”

Tapping her finger on her lips, Eleanor paced the hallway. Mr. Scott wanted to bring the Spanish down on Nassau. Eleanor could not forgive him for this. If war was what Mr. Scott wanted, she would give it to him. “You met Mr. Underhill,” she said alluding to the location where Hornigold capture her. “He has men trained in arms to protect his plantation against any pirate getting lofty ideas to raid. They know how to hunt runaway slaves. They might be of help.”

“It might help to give Mr. Underhill an enticement to raise as large a number as he can."

"What do you have in mind?" Eleanor asked.

“What does the governor mean to do with the surviving maroons? There must be women and children on that island,” said Hornigold with a glint in his eyes. "They could be spoils of war."

Eleanor was almost angry enough with Mr. Scott to agree to letting the maroon survivors be enslaved. But she thought of Eme, Max, and the other men and women she had hired and worked with, and she remembered Mr. Scott's daughter, Madi, who was once her playmate. They were people to her. _How much choice could the women and children have had when men believe they have to start a war?_  "I cannot answer for the governor in that regard. But you may tell Mr. Underhill and his men that it is in their interest to bring as many women and children to Nassau alive." And then she would attempt to persuade Woodes into allowing them citizenship.

It was late afternoon the following day, when Chamberlain walked into the strategy room in the company of Lieutenant Perkins, while Eleanor discussed plans with Mr. Underhill and Captain Throckmorton around the meeting table with maps sprawled out on top of it. “I've just come back from the beach,” he said. “And I couldn't help but notice the three additional ships anchored in the bay being outfitted for this battle right along with mine.”

Eleanor straightened herself, leaning one hand on the table, and turned towards Benjamin standing beside her. “Captain Hornigold will be sailing in consort with you, accompanied by his private militia.” She then indicated her head at Mr. Underhill at the other side, who pumped his chest when introduced. “Mr. Underhill has formed a special company of men from the ranks of his plantation staff, men with experience hunting and capturing slaves.”

“I will not go into battle alongside undisciplined conscripts,” Chamberlain said hoarsely. Mr. Underhill inspected the commodore with disdain. “The force I bring to bear is sufficient to combat whatever awaits us.”

“Jesus, he wants the force you bring to bear. He wants it.” Eleanor shook her head. “I know this enemy, Commodore. I know his mind. He took that cache with the express purpose of compelling us to commit your force to a battlefield of his choosing. Your force is factored into his thinking. He has planned for it. And I assure you, if you allow him to dictate the terms of battle, you court a disastrous outcome. If he expects your force, then we must send that which he does not expect. For we will have victory against this enemy. There simply is no alternative.”

Chamberlain’s eyes roamed the men in the room and rested upon Mr. Soames. “Do you agree with this?”

“I can only see benefit in it, Commodore. You would have enough ships to seal off the bay completely.”

“Flint has only one ship and the soldiers will take that beach in no time,” Chamberlain argued.

“But what about the inland, Commodore,” Eleanor said. “Flint knows you can take that beach. He wants to draw you inland, onto his terrain.” Eleanor heaved a deep breath. “It is meant as tactical support.”

Chamberlain looked at Hornigold and Mr. Underhill. “You will not interfere with tactical military maneuvers, and will only join us when we have secured the beach. Is that understood?”

Two days later, by noon, Eleanor stood alone on the pier as she watched the HMS _Milford_ , HMS _Rose_ , HMS _Shark_ , the _Buck_ , the _Royal Lion_ and two more ships sail off under a sky of heavy white clouds. All that remained in the bay were the _Delicia_ and the _Gloucestershire_. Eleanor dared not part with Woodes’ preferred guardship. _And if I did wrong and sent that fleet to their doom, he cannot say I deprived him of the Gloucestershire to send me to Wapping_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Eleanor and the hanging: While some viewers prefer it if Eleanor dwelled on Charles' death, there is no indication in the she that she does, if at all. She had already moved on. Harsh, but there it is. I do hint at her hearing the cord swinging in her dreams.
> 
> Maroons and slavery: Mr. Scott's betrayal causes deeper wounds than Charles' reveal about Richard Guthrie. She longed for Richard's acceptance, but Mr. Scott was her father in an emotional sense. In a true historical version both Eleanor and Rogers would consent to enslavement of the maroons. Woodes Rogers' merchant fleet carried slaves for trade, like the majority of Bristol merchants and naval nation of that era. The show skirted this issue with Eleanor and Rogers, while even Vane aquiesces to the use of slaves to rebuild the fort, reluctantly. Mr. Scott and the slaves escaped Nassau before Eleanor and Rogers even set foot on the island. Hornigold does not mention meeting Mr. Scott to Eleanor on-screen. It's a loose end. Their escape and the dead redcoats aren't even addressed from the regime's POV. Most of the slave/maroon issues is only shown from pirate or maroon POV. 
> 
> I think the show wanted to balance the portrayal of the pirates, maroons, governor and Eleanor. Imo the series wants all of their major characters to be "grey" rather than black and white. And I think they will continue to do so in S4, but towards a "darker grey". So, I dare not stray from the hazy portrayal of Eleanor or Rogers for the moment, even when she includes Mr. Underhill in the fight against the maroons. I understand that since this fanfic is mostly Eleanor's POV it reads sympathic of her, while putting the pirates in a bad spotlight. To then also have Eleanor think of offering the surviving women and children of the maroons citizenship may come off as making her close to a saint, except for having Vane hanged. It's just that I think the fate of the maroons will be an important plot point in the final season (S4).


	32. The Forgiven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rogers dreams and comes to a deeper understanding of himself, his wife Sarah and Eleanor, as well as his feelings for them through it. (Entirely Rogers POV)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Graphic warning - the last part of his fever dreams contain graphic descriptions of how characters died.

In the darkness he heard murmurs, whispers, the laughter of a woman, shrieking of children. _Sarah and the children_. He sat in a chair, one that Sarah had bought for their Bristol home on loan, in the back garden amidst hedges and rose bushes. Except, this one was a miniature chair, made for children. He tried to sit still, preventing it from breaking under his weight. Beside the chair, stood a miniature table. Sarah poured invisible tea into the miniature china opposite of him. She wore the black of mourning, a rich velvet, and her hair was tied tightly in a bun, hidden beneath a black cap. Her beauty had faded, not physically, but in the way it does as he learned who she was behind that pretty face. The black dress and tight hairstyle externalized the woman he believed her to be on the inside – a black widowed empress who kept people beneath her, not by bettering herself but keeping others down.

The scene shifted and Rogers was seated in a carriage with the wheels rattling on the cobblestones beneath him. A woman in a faded mourning dress and blonde hair tied tightly to the back of her head sat opposite of him. Months of prison stay had drained the color of her face. Her eyes glinted with defiance. She looked not so dissimilar as Sarah, but her jaw was more masculine, and instead of a fine straight nose, she had a nose reaching for the sky. Her eyes were blue like the sea, not brown. “Where the fuck are you taking me?” she bit at him suspiciously.

“My island,” he said softly.

“Fucking splendid,” she muttered, petulant as a child, and glanced away, but not without furrowing her brow first and have those blue pools linger hesitantly into his own for a moment. Despite her purposeful intent to look and act course, he saw a vulnerability in those eyes that intrigued him.

He gave her the saffron, calico shawl resting in his lap - golden like the sun. Without saying a word, she wrapped it around her shoulders and head, lowered her eyes and laid her hands demurely in her lap. _There, that looks better_ , he thought. It brought out her beauty.

Sarah talked about their future life, how many children they would have, their names. And when she named each one, he saw his son William race by, holding a kite with ribbons to make it take air. Little Sarah combed the golden hair of her doll and adjusted her doll’s dress. And finally Mary peeked from under the table where she hid, smiling at him and laying her finger on her lips to ask him to remain silent of her hide-out. He winked at her. “And if we have another boy, we’ll call him after you,” Sarah said as she handed him a cup filled with pretend tea.

Rogers stirred his spoon into the empty cup, put it to his lips, drank nothing and placed it back on the saucer in his hand. “No, his first month at school all the boys will call him Woody.”

Sarah lifted her eyes and appraised him. “You are Captain Rogers or Mr. Rogers now. But if you wish he could be named Thomas.”

The empty cup grew bigger and filled with tea. A bowl filled with raspberries to the rim and ripe for the picking stood on the table. He waited in his office, while he heard the pains and cries of a woman’s labor behind the doors of his bedroom. The doors opened and Dr. Marcus beamed at him, when he took his hand and shook it in congratulations. “You have a daughter, my lord.”

His bedroom looked out into a wild garden and smelled of roses and mango. The bed was a pirate’s.   _This is her room_. He was not entirely sure how he knew that. He had never been there. Her blonde waves shielded her face from him as she looked down onto the babe, pressing her lips against her forehead. He approached hesitantly, and finally sat down on the bedside, staring at the newborn. Her eyes were blue, blue like his own.

“Isn’t she lovely?” she whispered. “Our child.”

“She is.” Rogers lifted his eyes to look at the mother, but the screen of blonde hair between prevented him from identifying her. “How do you propose to name her?”

She turned and he looked into eyes of sky-blue, while she stretched their child out to him. “Nassau.”

Carefully, Rogers cradled the baby in his arms. “It would be my pleasure.” He closed his eyes and whispered into the miniature ears, “No pirate will hurt you again, my little miracle. I will do all I can to protect you and your mother.”

When he opened his eyes again, he sat in the Bristol garden again. Rogers frowned and set the little delicate china cup and the saucer on the table. “Sarah, what are you doing? Why are you pretending as if it all still has to happen? As if we are children who can start our lives all anew?”

“What do you mean?” she said flabbergasted.

“We will have a rich furnished house for a few years. William will grow up to be a strong lad, and Sarah and Emily into fine girls. But I will be at the other side of the world when Mary is born. My brother will die.” He pointed at his left cheek. “I will get this, and you will come to abhor it. Little Thomas will perish too young, before his first year. The house will be sold, all the china, all the furniture, your jewelry, and you will live with my widowed mother.” He waved his hands at the garden. “This is my mother’s garden.”

“You could not sail around the world this time,” she said petulant. “Take the loss of your slave ships to the pirates of Madagascar, and continue the business in Bristol with the ships that remain and expand in time.”

Rogers squinted at his wife. “I could have, but I would not. You wanted me to become a sailor, a captain to appease your father to the idea of marrying me. And I chose to for you. But something happened, Sarah.”

Sarah bowed her head and looked at her feet. “What?”

“I liked it. I like going to a new world and make a difference. I’m an ambitious man. I want to be a great man, not trade in slaves. I want to change the world.” He pointed to the treetops at the end of the garden, indicating what lay beyond. “I’m exactly what your father would have wished for a son-in-law, but not what you wanted for a husband.”

Sarah flushed red with anger and rose, starting to pack the tea-things into the toy-box. “What are you saying?”

 _Yes_ , he wondered, _what do I wish to say to her_?

Defoe grabbed his hand. His long face had a knowing smile. “You will make history, my friend. Never doubt it.”

Rogers lifted his eyebrows. “We will see. Some of those pirates may disagree with my plans, and send me back to London for debtor’s prison.”

“Perhaps.” Defoe shrugged his shoulders. And then he grinned. “But then I know where to find you and you can tell me all about them, so I can make all of you famous.”

He chuckled and retreated his hand and sighed. “There’s always that.”

“I have a gift for you.” Defoe handed him a parcel of brown paper wrapping. Rogers frowned and tore of the paper. Butterflies flew up into the sky. “Nothing practical, really. But what would life be like without its self-indulgent pleasures once in a while, hey?” Defoe tapped a book’s cover. “Don’t forget this on your voyage.” He receded into the darkness and Rogers sat down in his chair by the hearth’s fire with a glass of brandy.

Rogers opened the book and began to read. And as he did, the text turned into images, forbidden and sinful ones. Well, imagery? He could not see a hand before his eyes actually. But he could feel them. Her lips pressed onto his own, his fingers trembling as he fumbled at laces of a corset, the silkiness of her naked skin as he stroked the dimples right below the small of her back, her sighs and moans in his ear as he thrust into her, the softness of her hair as he buried his face in them, her legs wrapped around him, her foot grazing his shin, the sheer delight of her pillowing embrace of his cock, … the absolute joy of making love to her and be loved in return, in the middle of a killer storm. Winds howled around them. The ship rolled and leaned into the waves. She sobbed in his arms, clinging to him, her tears wetting his chest. “Why are you crying, my love?” he murmured.

He lay alone, and her presence was nothing more than a weeping ghost’s whisper. “I can never be the mother of your children.”

Rogers sat up in the darkness, trying to see, to find her. “What has that to do with anything?” he croaked. But if she was still there, she did not reply.

Next time he woke, he begged for water, but shied away from the glass when he recognized Mrs. Hudson. “What are you doing here?” He looked about the room in alarm. This was a different room, and yet it was still his, bathing in candlelight. It was dark outside. _Where the hell am I?_ “Where’s Sarah?”

Mrs. Hudson frowned and shook her head. “Mrs. Rogers is not here, sir. Do you wish for me to fetch Miss Guthrie or the doctor?”

 _Eleanor. Is she here?_ He narrowed his eyes at her. “You’re spying on me, for her.” He could feel it, as her hard and cold judgmental eyes bore into his brain and gave him a headache. She wanted to see in his mind so she could tell it all to Sarah.

“Sir, you are not well. Lie down again. I’ll go fetch the doctor for you.” She walked to the door and then turned around for a moment, looking very sad. “I’m sorry, sir. I did it for my children. Spain did not actually demand Captain Rackham, but my contact said it would be seen as a gesture of good will. Maybe…” She swallowed. “Maybe none of this would be happening then.”

She made no sense at all to him, and what she said sounded distorted. _What is happening?_ He reached for the glass with a trembling hand, drank and dropped it on the floor beside the bed. The headache was swallowing him whole and he dropped back into oblivion.

Through the window of the rattling carriage he could see a wilderness and the sea. A man with dark hair, dark eyes and wispy thin sideburns  smirked at him. “Do you have a wife?”

“Beg pardon?”

Rackham leaned towards him. “How do you imagine she would feel if she saw you suffer,  and that the only way she could end it would be to betray your trust, knowing she likely would lose that trust forever?”

“Riders! Riders approaching!” Major Rollins shouted outside. “Defend the governor!”

Rackham grinned triumphantly at Rogers. “I told you that my wife would do everything and anything in her power to save me.”

Standing to see what was the upset, Rogers looked daggers at Rackham. “Anne isn’t your wife.”

“Perhaps not in the eyes of society, but she is to me.” Then Rackham lurched for him, from behind, his teeth locked in a deadly grin, his dark eyes alight with demonic delight. The pirate choked him with his chains. Rogers rammed his elbow into Rackham in self-defense, but the man was made of iron. Fraught for air, he stretched his hand before him, grasping. In the beam of sunlight that shot through the window danced a saffron colored butterfly. And then everything became black before his eyes.

The light blinded him, piercing his head like a blast. He groaned and moved, only to realize his wrists were tied to his bed. He was a prisoner. From the glaring haze of light emerged Sarah’s face. She sat down at his bedside and placed her hand on his heart, smiling. “So, we will begin anew, my dear Mr. Rogers.”

He glared at her, wondering whether she had lost her wits. “Why did you tie me up?”

Her dark eyes moved from the good side of his face to his wrists. “To remind you of your vows. The bonds blessed by God last until death. You are tied to our marriage bed, not that poor replacement you consort with.”

Rogers turned his head away from her, squeezing his eyes tight against the blinding light. He gritted his teeth. “If I could do it all over again, Sarah, I would do everything the same, except… marrying you.”

Somewhere in the house a box of china fell on the floor and the noise of the thousand breaking pieces boomed into his ears. And then his cheek stung as the flat of her palm impacted his face, his scarred side. He opened his eyes again and met hers. She did not say a word but her brow was dark and clouded like thunder. Her eyes were aflame with a fireship. “You vowed before God, Mr. Rogers.”

“False  vows,” he sighed. “What we thought was love wasn’t love at all. It was an idea, a fantasy, and it turned into a nightmare.”

Sarah stood and towered above him, her face dark with wrath. “Are our children but an idea?”

“No, of course not. But children don’t make a marriage.”

“And who are you that you feel so above every other man?” she sniped at him. His eyes seemed to have  adjusted to the strange light. Only then did he notice something odd about the view from his window. _Where are the trees and the houses?_ He could only see sky and clouds that drifted by like mist. _Where the hell am I?_   Sarah paced the room. “Plenty of marriages between people are nightmares, based on an idea, rather than love. They don’t get to be released from their vows before God either.”

“I can’t speak for other people.” He balled his fists. “But this,” he indicated the tie. “God is not in this. And He never was. This is society’s doing.”

Sarah turned, smiled at him triumphantly. “Yes,” she whispered. “Civilization, Mr. Rogers.”

He was getting weary of struggling, and laid his head back. “I’m still civilized, Sarah. You are provided for, sheltered, as are our children.” He heard the singing of a child in the neighboring room. _Mary_ , he realized. He had barely known her, but he remembered how she liked to sing or hum.

Sarah folded her arms in front of her.  “Then what is it exactly you wish to be freed from?”

“From this loneliness, from a life without love. I want some happiness.” Rogers closed his eyes. He could smell her perfume in the room - a fragrance of roses, the sea air and, well, just her. Sometimes he could hear her voice, soft and clear like chiming bells. But whenever he did, it sounded sad. “I’m sorry, Sarah,” he said in a lower, more soothing tone. “For all the pain I caused you, for not being the husband you wanted and deserved. But we both know why we came to despise each other. I felt like a prisoner in Bristol, insignificant, before my trip ‘round the world, and after. While you wished a husband with name and fame who did nothing to earn it. Sometimes I wonder whether that was the reason you accrued so much debt, in revenge of me leaving you and to bind me to stay in Bristol forever once I returned.”

Sarah looked away, into the distance. “Maybe I did.”  

An invisible hand caressed his burning scar, with her knuckles. “She is here, isn’t she?” he said suddenly.

Sarah pursed her lips. “Perhaps.”

“Let me go, Sarah,” he said softly, pleading. “I have to go back. It is cruel to let her finish what I started all by herself.”

“Your butterfly of the sun will make you happy, will she? She looks more like a moth of night to me. What makes you think that she’s not just an idea, a fantasy that will turn into a nightmare? Or better yet, can she ever live up to the high and mighty standards of Mr. Rogers?”

Rogers sagged his head.  “I have known her in these past two months better than I have ever known you.”

“Yes, you have known her intimately. You lay with her,” Sarah whispered menacingly. “A thief, a murderer, a pirate. She has wrapped herself around your finger well and good several times.” She rasped, “She is a good fuck, isn’t she?”

 “She’s no murderer.” Rogers tugged at his silk chains again. “And what we do isn’t just fucking. We make love in the wild garden, as God’s angel decreed, something that you and I never did.” He pleaded with her. “You always had everything given to you on a platter. You never wanted for anything. There was always someone to guide you, to love you.” He sighed. “Even if it was not I.”

“Not you,” she agreed.

“Nobody ever loved her, Sarah, not truly. The only person who ever did was killed in a bloody massacre. How just and righteous can God be if he snatches any chance of redemption from her and condemns her to a living hell and an eternal one thereafter?”

 Sarah seemed to deliberate his argument. “You think that if you forgive her, that God will too? Do you think you are God?”

“No!” he denied. “But you always said that God was more forgiving than I could ever be. So, if I can forgive her, ...” He did not finish his sentence.

Sarah smiled knowingly. “What if she were to betray your trust, did the one thing you do not want her to do, believing she’s doing it for you. Would you forgive her?”

“She wouldn’t,” he gasped, somehow instantly realizing what Sarah meant. “He… He’s gone, shipped to England.”

Sarah laughed and got up from the bed. “It doesn’t sound to me like you would forgive her.” She waltzed back towards the doors. “I think we will meet again.”

A butterfly tried to weather a storm black as the ashes of a volcano in a desolate landscape - dry, sandy, stony and black. What water there might have once been had evaporated. White bleached bones lay strewn across the black rocky desert. Ffishbones stuck out of the dry riverbeds. No animal could survive for long in such a dry wasteland, and yet somehow the butterfly did. It was the sole presence of color in that world of the dead, with wings as yellow as the scorching sun and blue eyes. Despite its delicate, fragile nature it endured the hardships. _Sweet, little butterfly_ , he whispered to it, _hang in there until you reach fields with green, moist grass and flowers to get your nectar_. 

But instead of green grass and daylight, the world became pitch black, and the butterfly flew into a fortress filled with ghosts. It was eerily silent, but for the strange noise of a rope swinging back and forth. His brother stood amongst the crowd rocking his blue turned namesake in his arms. Half his brother’s head was gone where his brains were supposed to be. A wan older, broken man hung from a cross. The redcoats standing guard were deadly pale. Some had residue of vomit soiling their coats. Others missed a leg or arm, or showed cuts at the neck or slippery entrails spilling out. A young man with a smashed skull, wearing broken glasses nodded at him. _Mr. Dufresne_ , Rogers thought.

Captain Hornigold nodded gravely at him. “My Lord governor.” He had a gunshot wound near the heart and blood bubbled from his lips when he spoke.  

A man, dark as ebony, said, “I was his quartermaster, once.” He wore a crown of ivory. More than a score of his fellow Africans stood behind him.

Major Rollins saluted him. “You caught him, sir.”

But the dead were not the only ones here. He recognized Rackham more to the front of the crowd, with his arm around the shoulder of a woman with a hat. _That must be Anne Bonny_. Max stood beside her, but with her back turned to Anne. Flint gnashed his teeth and had his sword drawn. Blackbeard towered beside him, all dressed in black, his beard curled around sparkling fireworks. Another man with a peg for a leg leaned on an African woman. All of them pirates with a following. And in front of them stood a chest. “The cache,” he whispered to nobody in particular.

Anne Bonny lifted her hat and stared at him with cold eyes. “A dead man’s chest, more like.” She unlocked it and lifted the lid. “Ready to receive the first Pirate King.”

The noise of chains dragging across the floor alerted him to turn around and Charles Vane was brought forward before the crowd. His leg was bandaged for the gunshot wound that Rogers had inflicted on him. His face was bruised with cuts.

“Kill him,” one of the dead behind Rogers whispered. “Kill him,” said another. More and more the dead picked up the chant, until even the living pirates took it up. “Kill him! Kill him! Kill him!” over and over. A blonde woman in a red dress stumbled into the courtyard and they all stepped aside for her, for she was their queen, whether they liked her or not. “Kill him! Kill him! Kill him!”

Rogers tried to move through the throng to reach her, but the harder he tried, the more these ghosts formed a barrier between them. They pushed her forward to Charles Vane.  “I shouldn’t!” she pleaded. “I can’t! Why me?”

Max ran to her, pried Eleanor’s fingers open and put a dagger in there. “Do not do it,” she said in her French accent. “Only you cannot do it.” Eleanor’s fingers closed around the hilt. Her knuckles were blood red and scraped.

 “It’s a trap!” Rogers shouted. “Don’t do it Eleanor. Don’t listen.”

But the ghosts, dozens of them, nay hundreds, drowned out his shout to her with their “Guilty! Guilty! Dead! Dead! Dead!”

Rattling his chains, Vane turned to face her and with a lover’s voice, he rasped, “Are you coming to set me free, Eleanor?”

She stared at the dagger, at him and then at the crowd in the fortress. “If I do not, you will only come back to kill him.”

The beast chuckled. “Yes, I would, kill him like I killed your father. Set me free, Eleanor.” It sounded like a purr almost.

“They want someone to blame,” she whispered. “They need someone to blame.” The dead were silent, but watching, eagerly, lusting for blood. “Someone must be sacrificed, to make it alright again.”

“Then kill me, Eleanor. In death I’ll be free again. It’s not right to keep me chained in here.”

“Kill him! Kill him! Kill him!”

Eleanor turned to study each dead man’s face. And then her eyes arrested as she finally saw him amongst the crowd. Her eyes leaked tears and for a moment the sun managed to break through the clouds black as night, and she gave him a small smile. “For you,” she mouthed. “Only for you.” She lifted the dagger.

One, two, three and Rogers was momentarily distracted from the sound of a snapping cord. Vane hung from a gallows amidst the crowd. The haunting sound of the swinging cord he had heard since he entered the fortress belonged to Vane’s. _I came too late. She already did it_. Only then did he realize what the dagger was for. “Noooooooooooooooooo!” he bellowed.

No longer able to endure the separation, he used all his might and power to push everyone aside, and found he must have sprouted wings in order to succeed. Just as he reached his mate, Eleanor plunged the dagger into her, removed it and dropped it to the floor with a clangor. He caught her in his arms as she crumbled through her knees. “Eleanor what willful folly did you do?” He gathered her closer to him, and pressed a hand against her wound. “There was no need for this horrid act.” He pressed his cheek against hers. “You’re too proud for your own good.”

She reached for his scar and traced its path all the way to his chin. “Your scar was the first thing I loved about you, Woodes.” Only one person in his life ever called him that – she. She coughed up some blood.

Rogers shushed her. “Don’t speak. It will heal, Eleanor. The doctor will patch you up.” She smiled at him as if she thought, _silly you_.  “You cannot die. We’re partners remember?” But his hand was slick from her blood pumping out of her wound and the light started to fade in her eyes. “No! No, Eleanor! Stay with me.”

“Can you forgive me?” she whispered, barely audible.

She became a blur through his tear-filled eyes. The last time he cried, he held his brother’s head in his lap in the midst of flying debris and tried to put his brain back where it belonged. “I-I forgive you,” he blurted.

“You do love me,” she murmured, dying with a smile on her face.

“I do.” He kissed her lips gently. The surrounding darkness lifted. He refused to let go of her. Hoping against hope that his kiss, his very own soul, could breathe life back into her and lift the fog from her eyes. He sat with her like that for what seemed an eternal time, both of them bathing in light.

He felt a hand being put on his head. “I forgive you too, father,” said young Mary. He looked up, just in time to see young Mary walk into the light.

Rogers opened his eyes, and he knew where he was – Nassau, New Providence.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> S4 trailer, Cupid & Psyche and historical facts: I always envisioned the end of S3 as a form of "marriage" status between Rogers and Eleanor. Cupid & Psyche's first half of the story is a sinful affair that both regard as a marriage, but not recognized as such by society or the gods. When Cupid forgives Psyche's mistake and saves her with a kiss, the gods end Venus's wrath and an actual marriage ceremony and feast is held. The S4 trailer has Eleanor's dress befitting a wife. Eleanor wears no jewelry in S3, but she wears a necklace of baby pearls with a pendant that is a butterfly (yes!!!!!) and a golden ring on her ringfinger. So, I suspect she will be Rogers' second wife and his Psyche (soul and buttery). This dream chapter was written to suggest that Rogers' own life hangs in the balance. He could move on and "return" to little Mary, who waits for him in the light (afterlife), or he can return to the living to try and save Eleanor from her enemies. 
> 
> The dream sequences - since we are oblivious to the time passing between dreams, the many dreams become one large dream story for Rogers. There are allusions to events in his bedroom prior to this chapter while he sleeps, things he heoverhears, senses or smells and integrates back into the dream.


	33. The Betrothed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rogers finally wakes. He can hardly believe what he is looking at out on the market square. Captain Throckmorton received the black spot. Max wants Eleanor to give into the demand, while Eleanor remembers Rogers does not fear ghosts. Dr. Marcus informs Eleanor of the governor's recovery and she finally faces the judgment about her actions from the sole person who matters to her.

Rogers stared at the ceiling and gently moved his head to look around him. _Yes, this is my bedroom in Nassau. I am the governor_. He vaguely remembered feeling sick, weak and burning with fever. He was parched. He tried to speak, but his throat was so dry and it felt as if his tongue stuck to his palate. He only managed to utter a dry croak. He heard the creaking of a chair and a woman rushed to his bedside. He was surprised to see it was Mrs. Hudson. He tried to say her name, but once more, all that he managed was unintelligible croaking.

“Do you wish some water, my lord?”

“Har.” _That does not sound like aye at all._ Rogers simply nodded at her. As Mrs. Hudson filled a glass, he tried to sit up, and for a moment needed to close his eyes to let the resulting dizziness of his effort fade. He accepted the glass, brought it to his lips and drank.

“Easy, my lord. Not too much all once,” she warned him. He waited before swallowing the water, looking at Mrs. Hudson, and then drank more slowly. “May I touch your brow, sir?” Rogers consented with a gesture of his head. He felt the chambermaid’s cool hand against his brow. “Your fever has lessened. Do you know where you are, sir?”

Rogers coughed, and finally managed to rasp, “Nassau.”

The chambermaid put her hand on her chest. “God bless.” He cocked his eyebrows at her. “I must fetch for Dr. Marcus at once.” She rushed out of the bedroom and for a moment he sat alone, adjusting his awareness, but also still remembering some vague flashes of terror. _It was a dream_ , he realized. _She died in my arms, but it was only a dream. Well, a nightmare._

From the neighboring room he heard muffled voices. The door opened and Dr. Marcus stood in the doorway. “Good day, doctor,” Rogers said. His voice returned to him little by little whenever he spoke. He lifted the glass of water and took another sip.

The doctor beamed at him and then said to Mrs. Hudson, “You can go now. Perhaps you can wait in his office, while I make my examination.”

“Of course.” She curtsied the doctor and then bowed her head at Rogers, still smiling. Rogers rarely had seen her smile so much.

“Ugh,” he croaked. _No, my voice is still not entirely reliable._ He drank another sip of water. “How long?” he finally managed to say, while the doctor took out his instruments..

Dr. Marcus held out a thermometer. Rogers opened his mouth to receive it. “A week my lord.”

“Mh mhhhhhhhhhhhhm?”

“Yes, my lord. You lost consciousness a week ago. Sometimes you woke, but always in a state of delirium.” The doctor took his wrist, laid two fingers on it and counted while he watched his pocket watch. “Your heart rate is almost normal again. Seventy nine. It should be seventy two.” Then Dr. Marcus took out the thermometer. “Around 38 °C. Still high, but not forty anymore.”

Rogers tried to digest the fact that he lost a week of his life, and at such perilous times. “Vane?” he asked, suddenly remembering.

“Who?”

He cleared his throat. “Charles Vane? What happened to him?”

“Hanged and gibbeted, my lord.” Dr. Marcus waved towards the window. “Here on the square, five days ago.”

Rogers felt bile rise into his throat and a gnawing sensation in the pit of his abdomen. He had to see it for himself. Rogers leaned on his knuckles and tried to swing his naked legs out of bed, despite the doctor’s protests. But as soon as he dropped his feet on the floor and tried to stand, he knew he could barely manage by himself. “Help me get up, please.”

“As your physician I advise against it.”

“I insist.”

Dr. Marcus sighed and supported him step by swinging dizzy step to the window. Rogers’ heart stopped for an instant when he saw the gibbet on the square. _Charles Vane_. Once, Vane had been nothing but a blown up tale by sailors at Lloyd’s. Then he was a name written on a piece of paper in a prison cell. He became the evidence of Eleanor’s manipulative mind when she revealed he was a former lover. Afterwards he was Charles Vane of the fireship and a ghost of Eleanor’s past that spiked feelings of jealousy in him. But now the pirate was no more than a tarred display in a cage on the market square. Rogers did not need any explanation who had made it possible. “Why here?” he asked finally.

“To appease the street, I believe.”

Rogers raised his eyebrows and turned his head to look at the good doctor to make sure the man was serious. “The street?”

As the doctor relayed him about troublemakers demanding Vane’s trial had to be held in Nassau, Rogers’ knees did not just intended to give way for lack of strength alone. He grabbed for the wall beside the window. He remembered the fortress of his nightmare filled with ghosts, their chanting, Bonny’s dead man’s chest, and Eleanor sacrificing herself in the process in order to protect him. Rogers was angry, very angry.

Dr. Marcus said, “Perhaps it were better if I fetched Miss Guthrie. She knows all the particulars and has been most anxious for your recovery.”

“Yes,” Rogers said coolly. “I would be most obliged to you, doctor.” He stared at his naked legs. She had seen him more naked than that, but he was still a gentleman. “First have Dyson sent for to make me somewhat presentable and Mrs. Hudson is free to take a day off.”

xxx

Mr. Soames consulted with Eleanor in the assembly hall over some of the earliest reports of income and projected revenues. Since Vane’s hanging all had been peaceful in Nassau. Eleanor hoped it would stay that way. But when she saw Max enter together with Captain Throckmorton, she asked, “Is everything all right?”

“Show her what you showed to me,” said Max to Throckmorton with a sour face.

The captain flexed his jaw and pressed his lips together, as if he resented Max for it. Still, he lifted a folded piece of paper out of his inside pocket of his justaucorps and held it out for Eleanor to read. The letter came in the shape of a circle with a large black spot of charcoal drawn on it. Eleanor turned the paper around. "To the first to betray, I offer the first chance to repent. Remove the captain. You have until nightfall." Eleanor rolled her eyes and waved the paper in the air. “Where did you get this?”

“It was sitting at the foot of my bed when I woke this morning. Someone left it while I slept.”

“The message, it would seem, is clear,” said Max. “There is a voice out there yet to identify itself that wants to see Captain Vane's remains removed from the gibbet in the square.”

Mr. Soames joined their circle and pointed at the paper in Eleanor’s hands. “Why does it look like this?”

“An old wives' tale,” Eleanor said irritated as she pressed the paper into Mr. Soames' hands. “Pirate lore. Avery's maiden crew was said to deliver the black spot as a warning to wayward crew members.”

“Ignored on pain of death,” Max added in a more sinister voice. Eleanor watched Max for a moment, wondering what game she was playing now. Max had over a week to figure out who the spy was amongst her own workers, but despite her self-avowed friendship to Eleanor, Max had never even mentioned the word _spy_ to Eleanor again.

“I knew men when I was young who sailed with Avery,” Captain Throckmorton rumbled reassuringly. “It was a bullshit story then, and it's no less a bullshit story now.  Ma'am, cowards send notes.”

“The form of the threat may not rightly be the issue,” argued Max. “We are aware there is dissent on the street. Perhaps removing the gibbet would go a long way towards settling whatever unrest may be brewing.”

Eleanor closed her eyes and turned away from Max, leaning against the table of the assembly hall. She felt nauseous. _When will it ever stop?_

“You're suggesting that the governor comply with an anonymous threat?” asked Mr. Soames astonished.

“I am suggesting the gibbet could be seen by some to be inflammatory,” stressed Max. “The point has been made. The law has been satisfied.”

Mr. Soames was not so easily cowed. “It is a well-settled statement of resolve to maintain the display.”

Max’s voice and words grated Eleanor’s mind. For a moment she felt dizzy and in need of fresh air, as she gathered her thoughts, already able to predict Max’s arguments before she made them. Eleanor hated the display herself. But Eleanor was not the law nor a judge, and she had been determined to adhere to the law. Nor did she dare to remove the evidence of her actions from the governor’s sight before he woke. _What would Woodes want me to do?_

“If it is removed in the light of this threat,” argued Mr. Soamed. “In the light of Captain Flint's standing ultimatum against the use of it, would it not worry you that it might appear weak?”

Woodes' words about regarding Flint’s threat still echoed in Eleanor’s memory - _That, I too, am so weak to fear a ghost?_

“It certainly worries me to make self-defeating mistakes out of fear of _appearing_ weak,” sniped Max.

Eleanor had heard enough. Flint was no doubt engaged into battle by the fleet at that very moment. While there were agitators on the island, they could none of them be heavyweight fighters like Flint, nor even great in number. The black spot was a superstitious ghost story. Woodes would never give in to such a threat made by a rabble of dissenters. Eleanor ended the bickering. “He's right. He's right.” She shook her head. “It gives me no pleasure having it there, no matter what the street may say.” Eleanor met Max’s eyes. “But to remove it in this moment threatens to undermine confidence in the governor's leadership.” She regained enough air to stand once more. “That said,” she addressed Mr. Soames. “At the end of three days time, I want it down and gone, not a minute longer.”

Eleanor appraised him and said, “If you would like me to form a small detail to offer you protection in the meantime -”

Throckmorton pumped up his chest and grumbled calmly, “If anyone has a problem with my allegiance to the Crown, my men and I are happy to address it with them.”

Captain Throckmorton was a tall, calm, sensible man near his fifties, one of Hornigold’s generation. When Eleanor still ran her father’s fencing business, she never considered him much. He was a reliable and steady source of income, and his goods had always come in tip-top shape. He was a bit of a gentleman amongst the pirates, with enough of a name for merchants to surrender without trouble to him. But he never picked a target that would pose much of a challenge either. She wished now that she had favored men like him more than wild Charles, who set the worst examples.  Eleanor nodded at the captain. Just then Dr. Marcus called out to her from the staircase, looking at her from across his glasses. “Ma'am?”

“Excuse me,” she bid them good day and ambled towards the doctor.

Annoyed with the result, Max watched Eleanor leave and walk the stairs. _Has Eleanor learned nothing at all? Someone threatens those who took the pardons and they all ignore it, even Throckmorton._ She was only trying to give Eleanor the best advice she could. _Why does Eleanor ignore my advice?_ In a foul mood and disappointed, Max left the mansion to brood on all this on her way to her tavern. She was almost home again, when she wondered why the doctor had called for Eleanor.

Eleanor lifted her skirts and walked up the stairs, not daring to ask why Dr. Marcus wanted her. He did not leave her long in doubt and smiled. “Our lord governor’s fever has lowered sufficiently for him to wake. He is no longer delirious. He is still weak and feverish though, but I expect it to progress positively in the following hours.”

Eleanor leaned on the stair’s banister to catch her breath, and thanked fate, god or science and all of them at once for the news she had hoped for every day since he had been taken ill. “He is out of danger then?”

“Yes. And he asked to see you.”

“What is your medical advice?” she asked the doctor, feeling unsure what she was allowed to do or say.

“He should not exert or excite himself too much. The main aim should be in helping him regain strength and fluids. Nor should he be left alone for too long. But I think we can let the patient decide for himself what his body allows or not.”

“Thank you, doctor,” Eleanor whispered. “For all your good attentions.”

Dr. Marcus grinned and gestured his head toward the door. “Well, go in, ma’am.”

Suddenly nervous, Eleanor straightened her dark blue skirt and stomacher, before she laid her hand on the door handle straight into his bedroom. She opened the door slowly and walked in. The bed was empty and Rogers stood in his robe with his back towards her as he watched the square through his window. Her heart stilled for a moment, more of fright of seeing him up at all. “You should be in bed.” She mustered a smile for him.

“I've spent enough time in bed,” he said hoarsely and dark, without turning or looking at her. He was supposed to make the hard decisions and carry the burden of the responsibilities, not her. _I am the governor, she my assistant_. He could no longer lazy about, while she carried the heavy logs. _No, my precious butterfly, I would rather crack my sinews and break my back, than allow you to undergo such dishonor again._

Realizing what, _no who_ , he was staring out the window for, Eleanor’s earlier relief was replaced with mortification. The graveness of his voice and his motionlessness like a statue told her that her worst fears were coming true. In silence, she joined his side by the window. She glanced out of the window towards the gibbet that displayed dead Charles Vane. Furrowing her brow, she tried to imagine what it looked like to him. Woodes had come determined with a universal pardon, wanting to give pirates a clean slate for a new life within the law, exactly because in part he understood them. He knew battle and the chase, but also adventure and having more freedom than any soldier or sailor with the navy ever had. If not for her, Charles would have been included in his pardon. It was his determination to appeal to the best nature within people that had made him a hero in her own eyes. Never mind that Charles would have abused the pardon to harm Woodes, that Rackham mistook it for weakness, that Flint rejected the plan that Miranda’s former husband had grafted. She had robbed Woodes of the last illusion to make Nassau a better civilization than England. _Even I failed him_ , she thought distraught. “I did what I did,” she said low voiced, not evading her responsibility in it. “I know how it seems,” her voice gained a touch of despair. “To the street, to you, but please understand –“

“It seems as though…” Rogers interrupted her gruffly. “A very difficult thing was done.” He closed his eyes for a moment, and saw her stab herself with the dagger in his mind’s eye. He opened them again to stare at Vane’s gibbet. “It seems as though I am fortunate you had the courage to do it.” Eleanor gaped at him, her armor breaking in thousand pieces over his words. While she ought to feel relief, she was closer to tears, feeling unworthy to take what she desperately wanted. “You have enemies here,” Rogers said gravelly.

There was no doubt in his mind whatsoever that what he had witnessed in his dream was the truth of the matter. In his absence, each of her enemies had played their part to make her hang Vane. Eleanor had wanted to protect him. And he hated every one of her enemies for it. For the first time, he turned his face and his red rimmed eyes met hers.

 _Can it be true? Do you love me,_ she wondered _._

While his stern jaw was set in bitter anger, his eyes softened. _Unconditionally_ , _beyond all limit of everything else in this world, I love, prize and honor you._ His heart had flown to her service in his dream and it already resided with her. Despite her human flaws and raw emotions, she was peerless and perfect to him. For her sake, he would be her log-man. “Then let them be my enemies as well.”

Dumbstruck, Eleanor’s mind was a confused blank. For a long moment she doubted her own ears. She thought herself a fool for being unable to speak.

“Any and all of them,” he said grim-faced, nodding slightly at her as he stared into her eyes. “And let them come.” He let go of the wall and held his right hand out to her, wishing that heaven and earth could witness his silent gesture and would crown it with her hand in return. _Will you be my wife?_

Without giving it a second thought, she laid her own automatically into his. _Are you my husband now_ , she wondered, _the owner of my heart_. He squeezed her hand gently. _A thousand thousand_.

Overcome with the emotion, Eleanor was almost incapable of bearing his determined stare. Her other hand went up to his shoulder, caressing his back and the silk fabric of his robe, as if feeling part of his body would make his words, his decision – _this was a decision, right_ – more real than her mind could believe them to be. Shaken, Eleanor leaned her forehead on his shoulder, near the point of sobbing as she was awash with overflowing emotion. His male smell enveloped her like wings, and Eleanor settled for a sigh of relief. He was her warm human rock to lean on.  

Rogers’s eyes lingered on her face, before he looked out of the window again. Her leaning on him felt reassuring - real and alive. And he would let no one hurt her ever again. It was all so fresh, so new, this certainty of belonging, that neither of them spoke or moved, both thinking that no other person before them could have been this truly in love. Time would only be a breeding ground for it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tempest - many of the silent thoughts and actions when Eleanor joins Rogers in his bedroom reference scene 1 of act 3 of Shakespeare's Tempest. This is the personal betrothal scene between Ferdinand and Miranda. Other words are actually spoken by Rogers and almost none by Eleanor in the scene, but the scene heavily hints at a mutual sublimal understanding. He literally and metaphorically begs for her hand. Without saying it, that is what we symbolically witness - Rogers asking for Eleanor's hand, a figure of speech when a man asks a woman to be his wife. The Tempest scene between Ferdinand and Miranda also ends with him presenting his hand and she giving hers. It was this 3x10 scene that originally made me think of using the Tempest as a literary allusion to begin with. To each other at least, they are husband and wife by the end of S3, like Rackham and Anne Bonny are (the 2x10 scene on the Colonial Dawn), which was why I incorporated Rackham in Rogers' dream chapter, both to the reminder of his legel wife Sarah as well as show him that Eleanor is the wife in his heart. 
> 
> Max is only a short POV here. I could not yet use her conversation with Mrs. Mapleton about the spy, since that is the scene where Throckmorton drops, hanged. Since the black spot gave them until nightfall and it is daylight I take it is meant to happen the day after. The battle at Maroon Island may encompass a day with the night talk, but I'm going with a different passage of time for the island finale story. I have Rogers wake on the day of the battle, and Throckmorton dying the day after. I have a chapter in mind from Eleanor and Rogers' POV which will explain how Rogers comes to appoint Max to read the message of Long John Silver to the council. This chapter sets it up, with Eleanor feeling irritated with Max and Max being put off as well, and I certainly hinted on how Rogers views Max in his dream chapter already. But it was inapropriate imo to start the process at the end of the symbolical betrothal scene. This chapter had to end with that, though it is about a page shorter than my usual chapters.


	34. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Max is undecided what to do with the information she has on Idelle, but comes face to face with Captain Throckmorton's hanged body. Fearing the rebels, Max seeks Eleanor to get assurances, but instead finds herself facing governor Rogers. He hands her a letter from Throckmorton's murderer and makes her chairwoman of the Nassau council. While Max reads the letter to the rest of the council at her office, Rogers calls on Eleanor in her own room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Graphic Warning - sexual romantic scene. Updated and adjusted to fit 4x01 and 4x02 reveals.

Max sat on the upper balcony of the tavern from where she could watch and listen to her clients. Throckmorton and his men jested about the black spot. They regularly sat in her tavern, since people knew to find them there if they wanted a skiff. One of Throckmorton’s men, Robb the Robber, stood, widened his arms, hunched his back, made a face and attempted some poor imitation sound of a mewing ghost. “I am the ghost of Avery. You better watch out!” The men slammed the table roaring loudly at it.

Max did not smile. Ten nights ago, Mr. Dufresne had been killed by John Silver right where Robb impersonated his ghost. They had all, including her, questioned the threats. The very next day it turned out that Flint was alive indeed and together with Vane he was brazen enough to attack the governor. Max could still see a dark stain on the floorboards beneath Robb’s dancing feet. Max had Eme scrub it every morning since then. But it barely helped. She had been of a mind that very morning to tell Eme to leave it, when Throckmorton came to her with his note. But Throckmorton grew increasingly embarrassed when she wanted to notify Eleanor about it immediately.

Her eyes wandered to the other people in the tavern. Disapproving, Featherstone watched the joking from a distance with his arms folded in front of him. Idelle rolled her eyes and turned her back on it all. Another former pirate lifted his eyebrows at the scene and whispered something to Featherstone, who just nodded in response. Jacob Garrett, she remembered his name. And he left without saying much, which was peculiar since he usually was such a big talker. But not today. He had been the one stirring resentment against Eleanor too on the beach, demanding a fair trial in Nassau for Vane. Jacob had been Naft’s carpenter. But when Captain Naft decided to flee Nassau after Eleanor was handed to Captain Hume of the _Scarborough_ , Jacob decided to join another crew. He was one of those who wanted to be a pirate, a famous one preferably. He sailed last under Throckmorton, a month at most before the governor arrived.

 _Two, three more days, and then I can be sure_ , Max thought. She would send her boy on the lookout for the naval fleet the day after tomorrow. At the first sight of them, she intended to tell Eleanor the identities of the rebels – when she had the assurance that Flint was dead. _Nobody can fault me that I look after my own survival_ , she told herself. _I tried to help Eleanor as best as I could. I did._ But Eleanor had barely done anything with her help, except have Charles hang in Nassau. Admittedly, Max had feared a stronger response. The first two days people acted subdued and eyed the redcoats with suspicion, but now most laughed and drank with the soldiers side by side. People walked by the gibbet as if it was normal. Captain Lilywhite was one of the few who still muttered about Eleanor and tyranny, at least out loud.

Yesterday, Khar had growled, “Shut up, old man. He killed her father and attacked the governor. What did Vane ever do for you? If him and Eleanor had not fallen out, he would have slit your throat with pleasure if you even contemplated selling your goods to anyone else than her. That is, those rare times you even caught something worthwhile to sell.” That made the men in the tavern grin. “Captain Charles Vane was one of the most fearless pirates out there, but he was in it for himself or captains as renowned as himself. He would not lift a finger for the likes of us.”

“The Guthrie woman –“ Lilywhite tried again.

Throckmorton had smashed his pint on the table and stood. “Miss Guthrie could have put you, Hornigold, the owner of this establishment, any of us here...” He waved his hand across the mess. “On a no pardon list, if she wanted to. Instead, we all saw her come here to make her peace with a great many of us and let bygones be bygones. The only man she hanged was the one man excluded from the pardon to begin with.” He looked around and eyed the other men. “Who here did not at least contemplate his bounty the first day of our governor’s arrival? It’s his own fault. He got away, but he came back to assassinate the governor. We all heard the evidence at the trial.” Throckmorton shrugged his shoulders. “Well, those of us who were there at least. What the hell would you have the governor do? Send him to bed after a spanking without dinner?” The men roared with laughter and shouted silly proposals in jest to that.

Just when the early signs of rebellion had petered out and Max considered that maybe Eleanor had succeeded in her aims when she had Charles Vane tried and hanged, the black spot surfaced. While everyone else seemed confident that the Naval fleet and Hornigold would make chopped mutton of Flint and therefore waved this off as a prank, Max thought differently. There were real men behind those ghostly threats, men who were loyal to Flint and angry over Vane’s hanging, involved in the attack on governor Rogers. Such men were like to carry out their threats.

The following day, she visited the sick bay. Some of the sailors out of work had picked fruit from the trees along the roads outside of Nassau and sold it to her for a penny. It was an easy way for her to do charity and buy herself some credibility. Thirty one men had fallen ill in total, not counting the governor, but there had been no new reported cases for the last three days. Seventeen men had died and one soldier was still critical. The others seemed to be on the mend. On her way back to the tavern, she passed Mrs. Mapleton who fell in step beside her.  

“ It's been a few days since I told you of my suspicions about Idelle,” Mrs. Mapleton said in a low voice. “Her role in the attack on the governor's caravan. One can only assume she did not act alone, but had partners in this endeavor.” She put her hand on her stomacher as they strolled onwards. “You did not report this news to the governor nor to Miss Guthrie. Nor did you take any action to discover who the partners might be.”Mrs. Mapleton managed to ask a question without actually asking it.

Max rolled her eyes, sighed and then looked at the older woman whose grey hair was piled so high, she could have served at Versailles. Max had once pilfered her half sister's book on the fashion in the homeland at her father’s plantation. Hiding in her favorite spot in the brush where she could see her half-sister play, dance and sing, Max had marveled at the plates that depicted the women and men at their king's court. But her mother had found her out, dragged her by the arm before her sister and forced her to apologize and return the book to the owner."Désolé, mademoiselle," she had said and ran off.

“Until I know how this game will unfold,” said Max to Mrs. Mapleton, “I choose to allow the players to reveal themselves to me lest I make an enemy out of someone I may one day wish to call a friend.”

Just as Max lifted her eyebrows to stress her point, Mrs. Mapleton froze in her step, staring startled and shocked to something high in the air. Max turned her head and gaped at Captain Throckmorton dangling from a noose. Cries of shock and fear erupted. Mrs. Mapleton stepped back in fright, and so did Max, when her bodyguard took her by the elbow. “This way, Ma’am.”

She returned to the tavern more shaken than she ever expected to be. Featherstone and Idelle stepped towards her to ask what was the matter, but Max was unable to speak. Neither of them had been at the tavern nor the brothel that morning and Max wondered whether they had been off to their mysterious rides again.

Robb the Robber ran inside and called out to his fellow crew, “They hanged him! They hanged the captain!”

 “Who did?” grumbled Khar, standing up.

“The ghost!”

They were all in an uproar and rushed outside. Out of the corner of her eyes, Max noticed Featherstone’s impassive face. He avoided her eyes, while Idelle straightened her shoulders and stuck her nose in the air – her tell-tale expression that meant _serves him right_. _Would you kill me too_ , Max thought as she stared into their faces. Instinctively, she took a step away from them, and hastened into her office. When Featherstone tried to follow her, Idelle held him back and Max was glad of it. Her hands were trembling as she took her bottle of rum and poured herself a glass.

“You are a pirate,” Max remembered Eleanor saying to her. “You signed articles, for Christ's sakes! You held a share in an active crew.”

 _And now I am one of the governor’s council, betrayed Anne, betrayed Rackham_. Her hand quaked so much that she hardly managed to keep from spilling the content of her glass as she tried to drink it. _Will I be next to receive the black spot? Would Eleanor take Vane down from the gibbet if it were me who was threatened?_ The idea that someone might decide to assassinate her and that she would be dependent of Eleanor taking the threat serious was too much. She downed the glass and left to confront Eleanor about it.

“Miss Guthrie cannot receive you,” said Lieutenant Perkins to her in the governor’s assembly hall, after he returned from delivering her message that she needed to see Eleanor.

“But I was there!” she insisted. “I saw Captain Throckmorton drop.”

The lieutenant lifted his chin. “The governor will receive you though.”

“The governor?” she blurted surprised. “Is he well again?”

Lieutenant Perkins did not deign to answer her question but gestured to follow him upstairs. Ushered into the governor’s office, Max found herself facing governor Rogers all alone. Rogers rose from his office chair. His features betrayed nothing. Except for angry facial cuts starting to heal and paleness, Max saw little sign of fever. He wore a deep blue justaucorps with matching waistcoat and trousers that she had not seen him wear before. It matched his eyes, deepening the blue. He looked almost royal in it. “Sit, please,” he said.

 Max moved the chair, sat down and waited. Rogers followed her example – he sat and waited, saying nothing, watching her. “Is Eleanor not joining us?” she asked.

“No,” he said coolly. “Miss Guthrie is - how shall I say it – for the moment attending other _duties_.”

Max heard an edge in his voice that reminded her of the confrontation she had witnessed the night he sent Hornigold and his private militia to find Anne Bonny. _He’s angry with her_ , she thought. _Did he set her aside?_ A part of her knew Eleanor would be heartbroken, and Max would gladly solace her. But for now, she had to assure her own position with the governor. “I warned Mr. Soames and Eleanor yesterday that the gibbet could be seen as provocative –“

“Have you discovered who of your employees informed Flint and Vane about the caravan?” Rogers interrupted her.

“No,” she lied, automatically. She actually had come in a panic, ready to inform on Featherstone and Idelle if she found Eleanor reasonable to discuss her plans. Rogers lifted his eyebrows skeptically. “I thought I was summoned to…” She wanted to say council, but that would too presumptuous a word to use with this proud man. “to discuss the matter of the gibbet with you, my lord.”

“The gibbet remains,” he said disinterested. Rogers rested his elbows on his desk and folded his hands together. She opened her mouth to argue against it, but before she could make more than a squeak, he asked, “Do you have any information on the dissenters?”

“No,” she whispered.

Rogers furrowed his brow. “What have _you_ done to uncover them?”

 _Little to nothing_ , she thought. But she could not say that to him. “I put an entrusted employee on it. It is taking her longer than I expected.”

“Your employee had ten days already. I am starting to wonder how you ever managed to make a living finding leads for the pirates?” He reached for a little wooden box, opened it, and took out one black pearl. He held it up in the air between his thumb and index finger. It winked evilly at her in all its luster. Rogers laid it on the desk and Max felt the heat rise to her cheeks. For once, she felt blessed her skin tone could hide her hot cheeks. “A keepsake regarding a matter we never discussed,” Rogers said. He put his hand to his mouth pensively. “I thought I had a loyal and able partner in you, not just to sit on the council to keep your elevated status with the street, but to discover information that is difficult to acquire and to influence the street so it remains mine. Instead you showed my staff a note that was addressed to us anyway, alerted Miss Guthrie of an attempt to rally men on the beach loud enough for any patrol to hear, and claimed to be powerless to counter such dissent.” He picked up the black pearl once more, before putting it back in its box. “Your dowry does not seem to amount to much while I was ill.”

 _I betrayed Anne Bonny for you._ And yet, that too seemed the worst reply at that moment. Max swallowed. The meeting was not turning out as she had envisioned of it. She had grown so accustomed to the idea of him being ill. Max had supposed him too weak to try and withstand the wit and brazenness of the pirates and Spain combined. She had even forgotten how nervous he could make her feel and how her charms were lost on him. But now that he insinuated she was at best useless to him, at the worst working against him, she felt a noose being tied around her neck. And it was no ghost’s noose. Governor Rogers would get to her faster than the rebels ever could. She cleared her throat. “You have a faithful servant in me, my lord.” No matter how hard she tried though, Max could not keep the tremor out of her voice. “I will make an extra effort to discover who is behind all of this.”

Rogers smiled, for the first time since she had entered. “Thank you for your reassurance on that account, Max. I understand it were uncertain times and your council the past ten days was not without its merit.” He pushed a letter towards her. “This was delivered to me by a messenger boy who got it from someone who got it from someone, well you know the drill. As _chairwoman_ of the council, you will assemble the Nassau council tonight, read it to them, and discuss a proposal together on how to handle the threat. You will report back to me with the council’s conclusion, tomorrow morning.”

Max looked up at him when he promoted her to head the Nassau half of the council with one word. She took the letter, opened it and her eyes flew across the words. A second noose coiled around her throat. “You will not be present, my lord?”

“No, I have other priorities. We are without Hornigold’s private militia to maintain order and security in Nassau for the moment, and I empowered the army to oversee such matters by declaring martial law. There will be a night curfew, one hour after dusk. Any suspicious behavior by day or night must be reported, and anybody seen on the street without escort and permission during curfew will be shot at sight.”

“My lord -” she began.

“I am the Commander in Chief, Max. I do not need your council on legal and military matters. They are not your expertise.”

“Yes, my lord.”

“Good. The sooner you manage to make my council productive and effective, the sooner I can repeal martial law.” He stood, casually leaning on the back of his chair and gestured his hand towards the door. Max stood and walked towards the doors. Just as she reached for the door handle, he said, “There is one last matter, I wish to address. Perhaps it was the reason why you came today?”

Slowly, Max turned on her heels. “My lord?”

“Your personal security,” he grinned.

“I have bodyguards.”

“Captain Throckmorton had a whole crew of bodyguards,” Rogers bit back. He shook his head. “No, that will not suffice. It would not do if anything were to happen to my council’s chairwoman. Your past is nothing to me, but it seems these dissenters have a long memory. We both will sleep easier knowing there are guards before your door. Your escort awaits you downstairs.”

“Thank you, my lord governor,” she attempted to smile, turned around stiffly, raised her chin and went down the stairs as gracefully as she could.

“Ma’am,” Lieutenant Jones greeted her below with five other redcoats. “We will see you safely home again.”

Upstairs, Rogers sighed and took the cane from behind his desk to lean on. He was well enough to walk, but at times his knees still felt wobbly and if he got up too fast, the light headedness would make him dizzy. Eleanor had explained how Mrs. Hudson had nourished him and kept him hydrated while he was ill by giving him cloth soaked in broth following Dr. Marcus’s advice. Still, he must have lost at least a stone in weight. He ate regularly in short intervals and small portions – chicken broth and fruit. He would feel like starving for food one moment, but after three spoons of soup and two slices of papaya Rogers was sure he would burst. He disliked the smell of papaya, but Eleanor assured him it was soothing to a numb stomach. This morning he had managed to eat plucks of bread and avocado too.

Rogers put his free hand in his pocket, smiling contently at himself. As his fingers played with whatever he had in his pocket, Rogers realized it was something he was unfamiliar with. Frowning he took it out - a necklace of baby pearls with a golden pendant in the form of a butterfly. _How did that get into my pocket?_ It was not his, for he had never seen it before. And Eleanor was not the sort of person to hide her jewelry in his pockets. Come to think of it - Eleanor had no jewelry, only a hairclip. In fact, he had not worn this suit since the day after he visited her in prison, and it had been packed that same night by his former housekeeper at London. And that old, dutiful woman was least likely to misplace anything.

In a flash, Rogers remembered Defoe’s farewell to him. Defoe had called on him, gave him the book, and just before leaving startled him with a hug. It had Rogers astounded so much that it must have shown on his face, because Defoe had said, “I wish I had a son like you.” Rogers had filed it away as a fatherly embrace, and in truth, in the years after his return from his voyage around the world, Defoe had taken up a fatherly role towards him. Not that the man wanted for children. Six had grown into adulthood. But as Rogers stared at the butterfly necklace he wondered whether the embrace had been a sleight of hand of Defoe not to pick his pocket, but to plant something in there. After all, Defoe had given him the book and wished him a butterfly.

Rogers slid the necklace back into his pocket, ambled towards his library with his cane, took the book and left his apartments. He took the servant’s corridor to get to the east wing and halted before Eleanor’s door. He knocked. When Eleanor opened the door, he said, “I had heard that no one yet has ever called on you personally, while I gave you such an apartment for that purpose. I thought I might just as well be the first.”

She gave him a radiant smile in response. “My first gentleman caller. You are welcome.”

“The only one I may hope,” he said somewhat gruffly. He walked in, and a cooler air and heady scent of the garden circulated in the room. Eleanor had both the windows of her parlor and bedroom open. Stepping into a woman’s private world was like sailing into unchartered territory. Eleanor’s small parlor was surprisingly Spartan, more even than many a man’s library he had visited. A small desk with cabinet stood in the corner next to a window. The evidence of it having been used lately lay sprawled across it. In the middle of the room stood an armchair to lounge in and a chaise longue stood next to it at an angle. “At least you have comfortable chairs,” he said.

Between the two she had placed a round, wooden tray table. Three books lay piled on top of it. He walked over and picked them up to see their titles. One was the book he had gifted her himself. The second was another of Shakespeare’s works – the Tempest. The third was his own account of his voyage. He held it up to her and lifted his eyebrows. “This one?”

“I found it in one of my former warehouses.”

“Pirates loot books too?”

“Everything and anything,” she said pleasantly, “except what they wanted to keep for themselves. Flint and Rackham were some of the few who picked books from a ship’s quarter.”

“So you basically stole my book?”

Eleanor shook her head. “I bought it from the pirates and I paid for it last week with my own pocket money to the warehouse keeper.”

Rogers laid the book down again. “Hmmm.” He turned and saw a tray of china cups with a teapot on the larger cabinet in the other corner. “I see I come just in time for tea. Were you expecting anyone else?” He winked at her.

“Just you,” she said, turned and walked to the tray. “How did things go with Max?”

Rogers sat down in the longue chaise and watched her. “Excellent. I have her walking on that thin rope I wanted her on. And all Nassau and every rebel will know she is the head of my council. Regardless whether I take council’s advice or not, while upholding martial law, everyone will believe she cooperated with it. If she wishes to survive then it will be in her self-interest to look after my interest.”

Eleanor had given her complete account yesterday afternoon in the garden. Woodes had wanted to show to his men his health was improving. When welcomed downstairs with a polite applause by his men, he had said, “Thank you, gentlemen,” clear but not too loud. “It is good to know how much I can rely on such a hard working team while I convalesced. It is I who should applaud you all for having assisted my trusted advisor, Miss Guthrie, who executed all of my decisions of the past week perfunctory. With such a team a governor can rest easy for a week.” The last had evoked several chuckles from the men. “On the doctor’s orders I must first regain my strength. So, for now all will remain as it has the past week. Our senior advisors are your first contact, and if it is necessary Mr. Soames will confer with Lieutenant Perkins to alert Miss Guthrie or myself on matters of urgency. Just pretend I’m not here for today. I was just getting _sick_ of my room.” They had laughed and he had waved his hand at them to send them back to work.

 Mr. Soames failed to understand the message and immediately after congratulating him personally for his returning health, he had asked, “I trust Miss Guthrie has informed you already about the black spot threat regarding the gibbet, earlier today.”

“Yes,” Rogers had lied with a straight face. “I do not fear Avery’s ghost.” Eleanor expressed surprise that he knew the meaning of the black spot. But his father-in-law had been based in Jamaica for several years. Numerous privateers there had crew aboard who claimed to have known Avery.

Mr. Soames went into a lengthy retelling of his arguments with Max, until Rogers interrupted him as politely as he could, asking to see this black spot and had beckoned Lieutenant Perkins. “It is your job today, and the next I think, to make sure that I am not disturbed. Only if there is a true crisis, are you to contact either myself or Miss Guthrie. Only you.”

Nobody had disturbed Eleanor and him all day after that. As her reports of events unraveled, Rogers grew increasingly uncomfortable. The more he heard, the angrier his jaw set, the more he fidgeted the silver knob of his cane, as well as grumble for her to continue rather than ask a question here or there. Eleanor had tried to portray Max as helpful by alerting her of the threat of riots, warning of growing feelings of resentment towards herself in the street and on the beach, and council her in ways to help keep the street.

“Do you trust Max?” he had asked at length in a dark voice thick with fury.

Eleanor squirmed uncomfortably while saying, “Yes.”

“Do not trust her,” he said. “Though she might tell herself that she did it for your own good, she put your back against the wall.”

“I think she tried to protect me,” Eleanor protested.  

Rogers shook his head.  “Imagine for a moment, if you will, that I had not fallen ill. Can you even remotely picture her refusing me, if I were to ask her to do something about the dissenters?” Woodes had not needed Eleanor to answer the question for him. He could see the realization that he was painfully correct plain on her face. “She would do whatever she could to prove her loyalty to me. Even if she fears _for_ you, as you say, she is not frightened _of_ you.” Woodes shook his head in disgust over it. “I know you, Eleanor. You somehow made sure that anyone and everyone would have seen you at that trial and the hanging, am I right?”

She had shrunk at the clarity with which he saw her motivation. “Yes,” she whispered. “But that was what she had advised me against.”

Woodes had cocked his eyebrows at that. “And it did not help much, did it? Instead it planted the idea right in your mind. I will _not_ have you put yourself out there as a target to shield me.”

“I-“ she tried to say.

“If Max had not warned you about making sure to dissociate yourself from the trial and the hanging, I doubt you would have considered being present at either.” He had been silent for a while then, looking ahead into the distance. “I will deal with her directly on matters of security for the time being. And I would prefer it that if you meet, you would not do so alone. Have Mrs. Hudson around or Dyson.”

“Dyson?”

“He will see right through any of her bullshit, manipulations and tricks,” Woodes had said. “And he can be quite imposing when he needs to be.”

As dusk was on them, Eleanor lit the chandeliers and candles in her apartment, strode to the cabinet and poured the tea in the tea cups. She became aware of Woodes standing behind her.

“I love you… in that red dress,” he whispered in her neck. Eleanor had goose bumps when she felt his fingers caress her neck lightly and push her hair aside. Something cold touched her neck and slid across her chest. She looked down and saw it was a necklace. She touched the golden butterfly pendant, as he clasped the lock. Woodes let it go and she could feel the little weight of it hanging. “Don’t ever take it off.” She felt his lips press softly against her skin.

“Where did you get this?” she murmured. She lifted the pendant to have a closer look at it.

“From my pocket.” Woodes said no more than that and retreated back to the chaise longue. When she handed him his cup, he asked her to join him in it.

They sat in silence for a while and the sole sound was the tinkling of the stirring of spoons, while the eastern air seen from the window turned a deeper blue and purple pink hues. Eleanor sat modestly poised with the saucer in her one hand sipping the hot tea at the end of the longue chaise. Woodes sat half turned towards her with one leg on the seat and his elbow over the higher back end. She could feel his eyes on her. She did not need to turn her face to see the pleasure in his eyes confirmed. Now, she understood this was some form of foreplay to him.

When he set his cup aside on the small tray table, he opened the book he had brought along. “Come here, and read the last part for me.”

Eleanor took the book and read the last section about Cupid’s and Psyche’s true marriage. She began to feel nervous and fidgety. Her cheeks glowed hot. And she dared not look up, sensing he was staring at her steadily. She closed the book, stroking its cover, and held her breath.

“Read what my friend wrote to me on the first page,” he said. Eleanor opened the cover and read the eloquent writing. “You’re my butterfly,” he whispered. Eleanor turned her face and saw that his hand patted his lap. For a moment she felt rather silly at the idea of sitting in his lap, but she straightened her frock behind her and sat where he wanted her. One hand snaked around her waist, another rested on her abdomen.  “I’ve been careless.”

She raised her eyes to meet his dark blue, dreamy ones. Eleanor bit her lower lip and looked down at his hand. “Yes.”

“I will be careless again.”

Eleanor closed her eyes and pressed her forehead against his. “Yes,” was all she said to that.

His thumb and fingers caressed her cheeks until they reached her chin. He lifted her chin and made her look at him. “Miss Guthrie,” said he. “Would you do me the honor and consent to be my wife?”

She wanted to ask numerous questions. _What about Sarah? How can I be a stepmother to your children?_ But she only saw love beaming from his eyes, and she whispered, “Yes.”

His hand went around her neck and he pulled her to him. They kissed.  His tongue was a velvet caress against hers. He hiked her skirt to caress her legs, her inner thigh, up and up. She gasped and pressed herself into his hand when he found the treasure nestled in her soft curls. “I missed you,” she muttered to his lips.

 “I know,” he grumbled, and “I’m sorry I wasn’t there for you.”

Both her hands reached for his face, stroking his stubble. “You were there,” she mumbled back, in between kisses. “In my mind and heart.”

And as he slid his finger between her legs and felt the slick evidence of her arousal, he grew so hard for her, that he wanted her naked in bed beneath him that very instant if that was possible. How fast they undressed, neither could tell, nor how they got from the chaise to her pirate’s bed. She lay naked, just wearing the necklace, drinking his lips and tongue and wrapping her legs around him. “Teach me,” he whispered into her ear.

“W-what?” she panted.

“How to make it twice,” he rumbled, and thrust into her. And in between moans, cries and yelps she taught him.

xxx

Max saw the Nassau council members and foremost citizens, such as Mrs. Mapleton and Mr. Frasier, file into the tavern, under heavy guard. She welcomed them all into her office. She leaned her hands relaxed with fingers outspread across the desk. The fear was palpable in all of them. Max lifted her chin and surrendered to her given task with resolve. “For those of you who have not heard, the governor has imposed martial law upon all of Nassau Town in response to the murder of Captain Throckmorton. He asks that I convey the contents of the letter left for him today, taking responsibility for Captain Throckmorton's murder.” She picked up the letter that governor Rogers had passed to her. She read it aloud, slowly and articulate.

"I was no one, and then you came, and my island fell, and I became something else. On the night I confiscated the pardon rolls, the night I started becoming, I made clear my position that there would be two sorts of men on the island going forward. Those like Captain Vane, determined to stand by their oath to the very end, and those like Captain Throckmorton, happy to be the first to betray it.” Max swallowed for a moment before reading the last. Dread coiled darkly inside her. “And thus, as always, to _traitors_ \- Captain Throckmorton's black spot will not be the last. Ignore it, and join him. Heed it, and reclaim your place amongst us. Until then, I remain Long John Silver."

THE END

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trust - I could never envision Rogers wholly trusting Max, not when he explicitly said "any and all of them" about Eleanor's enemies and Eleanor herself begins to build in a distance from Max almost on instinct. So, if he made Max read the letter for all the council members, making her chairwoman, he's manouvring her into that position not out of trust, but to use her former choices to ally with him to keep her on her toes. In a way that circles back to Eleanor's first meeting with Rogers on the quarterdeck as he points out the ships and the Gloucestershire and her feeling the English noose around her throat in her cell. 
> 
> Secrets - some of you wondered how much I'd let Eleanor or Rogers reveal about their past. I think that in the end even people who are fully committed to each other and trust each other will preserve some tidbits of their background for themselves. So, Rogers does not confesses to his decision to have her go through a trial. I'd say that Eleanor realizes this deep down, but simply sees no need to dwell on it, let alone bring it up. It doesn't matter aymore, since neither of them are who they were anymore. Likewise, Eleanor never volunteers any explicit information of the nature of the relationship she had with Max prior to their enmity. I imagine that at the very least he suspects a very personal history between the two of them, but it's clear it's over, and he makes sure it stays that way. 
> 
> Eleanor-Rogers domestic scene: By pulling Eleanor out of the spotlight and pushing Max forward into it for Eleanor's safety brings her role from an individual female of power as ally to that of the powerful wife behind the man. In one way, Eleanor's "domestication" is finalized. Rogers makes her a behind-the-stage partner, but it does not lessen her power, nor influence with him. They still "scheme" together. Her impressions, insights and ideas are still the most important to him. So, in that sense nothing has changed at all for Eleanor to feel needed and appreciated. Nothing that Rogers said at his meeting to Eleanor is a secret to her. It was planned by the both of them. She is now stepping in the far more traditional shoes of her mother and what Miranda was to Flint. The domestic scene occurs in Eleanor's room as it is the "eastern" room, referring to dawn and new beginnings. And it denotes a high level of intimacy that usually befits that of a married couple. It's also implied he's the first man in her life to bed her in her own bed. So, these things also symbolizes her arc going from a hired assistant to that of a wife. 
> 
> The council - the series has Max read the letter to the rest of the council in her office. This is peculiar. It's supposed to be a body of government and yet it happens away from the governor's mansion without his or Eleanor's presence. The crucial thing here is that Rogers has declared martial law. The council has no effective power whatsoever. All civlian rule of law and power is ended under martial law. Judges, "police", punishment falls entirely under military law and Rogers as Commander in Chief has the absolute power. It's a puppet show, where Max is ordered to be the most prominent figure. These were imo the clues to determine that Rogers set up Max to take the fall, rather than demoting Eleanor. 
> 
> Update 12/2/2017 - I rewrote the Eleanor-Rogers scene and made it a marriage proposal, after the confirmation of 4x01. I had supposed the show would have made him a widower. After 1680 it was possible to file for divorce with the church based on adultery, but this did not permit the divorcee to remarry. That said, many clergymen did marry people who were not permitted to (re)marry, especially in the colonies - so called clandestine marriages. Those were barred by English law in 1770, but that did not prevent it from happening and being accepted in the colonies.


End file.
